Faith
by Luinwen-2013
Summary: AU where the heirs of Durin survive BoFA. Kíli rules the Blue Mountains, now only a shadow of what it was before the Retake of Erebor, where Thorin is king and Fíli is crown prince, both of whom he misses dearly, but someone has to take charge of the settlement. Things are bad enough, but get worse – Kíli is summoned to Erebor to perform his duty as a spare and marry a princess.
1. 10 years ago – Lake Town

Author Note: This fic happens ten years after the Battle of the Five Armies, T.A. 2951. According to Tolkien, by this time Gondor is ruled by Turgon, father of Echtelion and grandfather of Denethor.

Thengel lives in Gondor by this time because of his disagreements with his father, Fengel. It is mentioned that Théoden has four sisters, one of which older than him, unnamed by Tolkien. His sister who is mother to Éomer and Éowin is one of the younger ones. Théoden was born T.A. 2948.

=^.^=

10 years ago – Lake Town

When her father came in running and also running got downstairs, Sigrid's first though was that he had a bad belly ache, but the sounds that came up from the toilet made her curiosity win over her sense of privacy. Obviously, her little sister was at her heels.

"Da, why are there dwarves coming out of our toilet?"

The question was as absurd as the situation.

"Will they bring us luck?"

Asked always optimistic Tilda, under the roar of bad humoured dwarves popping up from the simple wooden toilet seat and complaining in rough tones. The girl holding a ragdoll in front of her as if it were a kind of shield couldn't help but notice an almost beardless dwarf struggling to haul himself out of the wooden seat, and hurried to help him out of the tight wooden hole while her older sister ran to find their unexpected guests dry clothes that would fit them.

Paler than Tilda would deem healthy, the dwarf thanked her, gripping his thigh with a hand whilst propping himself on a post with the other. It was the first time in her life that she looked upon a dwarf – a real dwarf, not a drawing of sorts, and they truly scared her.


	2. 10 Years Ago - Erebor

Chapter summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of Five Armies, two brothers recover from their wounds in the Healing House of Erebor. The wounds to the heart, though, are bound to hurt deep and long.

=^.^=

"And so it was that our burglar was upside down, suspended by his shins by that monstrous troll and threatened to have his big feet burnt. Fíli had gone to get the others and wasn't back yet, but I couldn't just stay hidden and watch Bilbo be tortured. So, I unsheathed my sword and sprang at them, hacking a gash in a leg as thick as a tree trunk and commanding them to drop him!"

"Wow! And did they drop him?"

Her eyes were wide in the excitement of the story, and to imagine that it was a _true_ adventure, not a fairytale made up by a bard or someone. Kíli shook his head lightly, with a forlorn look in his face.

"Well, actually, they did, but…"

"But they threw Bilbo atop of my little brother and this made him a most honourable mattress!"

The girl giggled, both from Fíli's description of the scene and from Kíli's indignant reaction, throwing a pillow at his brother on the bed beside him. The laughter was cut short by the creak of the door being opened.

"Tilda! What are you doing here? Da told you not to bother the dwarves!" Sigrid turned to the convalescent brothers, an iron grip on her sister's arm. "I'm really sorry, my princes, it won't happen again, I promise."

Kíli turned to the older girl with pleading eyes.

"No, please! Tilda doesn't bother me, she makes me company while my sluggish brother sleeps!"

A joyful pillow flew back to Kíli's bed.

"I'm not sluggish, I'm just on stronger medicines than you!"

Sigrid stepped between the beds to prevent a battle from happening, grabbing one pillow in each hand.

"My princes, please, if you move too much your wounds might reopen and you'll have to be stitched again!"

The idea of being in the hands of the healers again made them stop instantly, but the younger dwarf got more implications from what she said. Fíli was fast in explaining other issues.

"Milady Sigrid, please, no need to call us '_princes_' all the time. You didn't call us that when we were hosted at your father's home."

The human girl nodded and Kíli took the chance to make his point too.

"Then please, Milady Sigrid, allow your sister to come and tend us again. To be bed ridden is so very, very boring, and Tilda is such a…"

Kíli looked at the ceiling and twitched his fingers while picking the right word.

"Distraction?"

"Fíli, no!" Now his face was earnest. "She is _good company_. A very _gracious_ company."

The smile on both sisters' faces was of deserved pride.

Kíli spoke softly to his brother after the girls got out of sight, a daydreaming look in his face.

"Children of Men are so amusing. I wish our own people had more children."

Fíli smiled and nodded, agreeing.

"When our people comes from the Blue Mountain to repopulate Erebor I'm sure more dwarflings will be born. The years in exile were harsh, you know. Now there will be plenty again, and our people will grow."

The younger dwarf gave a bitter smile.

"May Mahal heed your words, brother. I'll love to be an uncle."

"Why just an uncle? You have so much life in you, Kee, you should spread this life around. And I would love to be an uncle, too."

At this statement the Kíli's face went somber, and his eyes lost part of the shine they used to show.

"Nay, brother. Since Tauriel is no more, this path is closed to me."

"Kee… You didn't even marry. Is not as if you were bound. You…'"

"Shut up!" Kíli shout, angry. "You know nothing! You…"

"Kee…"

With the same speed the outburst of anger came it was gone, leaving sadness in its wake and tears in Kíli's eyes.

"…S-sorry, Fee, I…"

The blond swallowed his own sadness at the sight of his brother's crying. He would gladly give up his right hand if only Kíli coped with his mourning.

"It's all right, Kee. I really don't know how it is to fall in love, yet. But I hope I'll find out, someday. As I hope you'll find cure for your heart. Someday."

"Someday… The day I find Tauriel again, my brother, beyond the western seas…"

=^.^=

Important Author's Note on age: First few short chapters mentioning the past are to show how some things happened. The main story happens when Tilda is already 21 years old, adult and a healer. Probably, taking care of injured warriors awoke in her the will to relieve suffering from people.


	3. 10 Years Ago – The Tomb

There was only one corpse in Erebor's necropolis that was not of a dwarf. It needed lots of arguments, tears and shouts, but the body Thranduil prohibited his people to take back to Mirkwood found its resting place amongst the tombs of the dwarves.

"The one who chose to fight at our side will not be laid to burn with orc carcasses. She will be stowed amongst our princesses, and may Mahal grant her spirit the peace she didn't find in life."

Thorin made his point, and with these words Tauriel's body was taken to be prepared for burial. The one who longed for the stars would rest under stone, and no honours would be enough to compensate the elven undying life she spent to save Kíli.

His body was less broken than Fíli's, but the same could not be said about his spirit.

"I must see her. I must see Tauriel."

Kíli's plea went unheard or ignored by every healer designated to tend the royal family until the only words heard from him were _I must see Tauriel_ and _Get out_ to anyone who didn't offer at least some kind of understanding to his plea.

Until word was sent to him.

"If the healers allow it, be at Durin's Waiting Chambers when possible."

-x-

The wheelchair crossed the long corridors to the mortuary area with a squeak that sounded like the wail of a weeper. _Fitting_, Kíli thought as they approached the wide doors that guarded the place. Dwalin stopped the chair and squatted in front of the lad before opening them.

"Are you sure, laddie?" Asked the burly dwarf, compassion in his eyes.

"Dwalin… I _must_ see her, Dwalin! I must say my farewell, I must…"

His voice faltered and Dwalin sighed, shaking his head. It would not be easy. It never was.

The doors ringed in their hinges and revealed a stone slab in the middle of the living stone. A single ray of light shone on it, revealing the sad figure of a still body. Dwalin pushed the chair closer, swallowing his own sadness. He never trusted elves, nor women – how could you trust someone who bled four days per month and didn't die? – but that she-elf was different. She gave up her own people to help the Company, and her own life for Kíli's sake. Kíli was so dear to Dwalin's heart, the nephew he never had and never would have. He was not Dís' brother, but Thorin's brother-in-arms, besides second cousin. Kíli and Fíli were his charge, they have always been.

And he failed them.

Failed them when he let those courageous younglings do what a whole patrol should have done. He let them walk into danger, right into Azog's trap, whilst he and Thorin took care of a bunch of stupid goblin mercenaries. Doesn't matter the bunch counted a hundred; they could have finished the goblins together and scout the Ravenhill guardhouse together. Maybe then Fíli would have been spared of the wound that almost cost his life and that would grant him a limp for life; maybe then Bolg would have been stopped before he pierced Tauriel's heart with the weapon meant for Kíli; maybe…

That single sunray lightened Tauriel's face, a serious face decorated with delicate freckles; her hands rested on her breast, holding her hunting knives close to her heart. The oils and ointments that preserved her body from decay exhaled an inebriating scent that filled the room with sadness.

"You came."

A deep voice sounded from the shadows, startling both dwarves. Kíli reached for a bow that wasn't on his back, and Dwalin took a couple of fast steps in the direction of the voice.

"Why are you here in this sacred…"

"The same as you." Answered Legolas, cutting Dwalin short. "It's my lot to present my farewell to one I… cared for."

"This is no place for… for…"

"This is the right place for those who… cared for… Tauriel, Dwalin." Kíli said, hurt in his voice. "Don't disturb her with your anger. Legolas did his best, once informed of the truth."

"The son of that…"

"The disowned son of a king, aye, who gave up his heritage for the sake of justice." Kíli turned to the blond elf, bowing his head slightly. "I beg you forgive my kinsman for his outburst, master Legolas."

Legolas bowed, a hand on his heart.

"Apologies accepted. It might be hard to forgive someone who captured you and put you in a dungeon, even if this person was only performing his duty."

A low growl in Dwalin's throat showed he was not all right with the exchange of pleasantries. The dead woman was an elf, nonetheless, and he had to bow his head to this fact.

"I'll leave you to mourn your losses. In case of need, I'll be right behind those doors, do you understand me?"

Warning given, Dwalin retreated to the corridor, leaving brunet and blond to watch over Tauriel's body. The silence got more and more uncomfortable, until Kíli broke it.

"You loved her."

It was a statement, not a question.

The elf lifted his eyes to meet the dwarf's.

"You still love her."

"What's the difference? She's no more amongst us."

Legolas shook his head and diverted his eyes, considering how to explain things.

"I loved Tauriel, her beauty, her strong spirit… A part of me believes she loved me too, in a way. But… Most of all, she loved freedom, and justice, and…"

"To be with you would give her neither?" Risked Kíli.

"To be with my father's heir would give her neither."

"I've heard you've been disowned. This would change things."

"This I was. But I fear it was too late to bring her back to me."

Kíli tried to guide his wheelchair closer to Tauriel's body, and Legolas hurried to help him.

"She loved you already. And you love her still. I envy your love, dwarf, that can reach beyond the veils of death."

"What do you mean?" Kíli's hand, which was about to touch the still fingers of his beloved one, halted.

"To be an elf means to be at once in the living world and in the spirit world. Tauriel ceased to exist only in the living world. Don't forget this."


	4. TA 2951 - Letters from Dale and Gondor

"Dear Sigrid,

May the Valar bless you and all around you, now and until the King returns.

Da and Bain send you their love and yearnings to see you as soon as possible.

How are you faring? Last time I had news you suspected to be with child; am I an aunt already?

I have good news for us both, if it is all right with your king (Da sent him a letter explaining things, I deem). We'll have will have a great festivity next autumn, to celebrate ten years of the demise of Smaug, along with our neighbours the dwarves. I've heard there'll be people from several places, and Rohan is invited!

I look forward to see you here again, Bain accompanies Da most of the time in the management of Dale and I feel so alone! And even if he weren't, there're lots of women's issues he would not understand. Sometimes I wish I were the simple daughter of the bargeman again, and that we all lived together, or at least close by.

Lots of love,

Tilda

-xxx-

"Dear Tilda,

We all here fare well and healthy with the blessings of the Valar, as we hope all of you fare also.

Full of joy is the day when news come from you, being the only Dale woman south of the Argonath can be hard sometimes. At least I can relate to Lady Morwen, she misses Lossarnach as much as I miss Dale – or should I say, as I miss Lake-Town, because it were so few years in Dale in comparison to my whole life in Lake-Town.

It is better now that I have little Sigwine, Lady Morwen is happy that her little Théoden has a playmate now – of course it will be some years until Sigwine is able to play anything more than '_who's mama's laddie?_', to what he cooes and giggles. But anyway Sigwine is a Rohirrim too, so if they become friends they will not be parted when Lord Thengel goes back to Rohan. He says he doesn't want to, but everybody knows it will happen someday, he cannot skip his duty as heir of King Fengel, even if he doesn't like his father's gluttonous and avaricious nature.

Lady Morwen asked me to stay to help with little Théohilde's birthday commemoration, then we'll take Lord Thengel's leave and, more important, Steward Turgon's leave, and hit the road up to see you! I'll be so happy to be with you, Bain and Da, and to see everybody again!

Always yours,

Sigrid


	5. Shire

Bilbo heard a knock on his green round door but, unlike ten years before, it was expected and welcomed. The burly figure of Dwalin showed against the night sky, accompanied by someone more slender, yet still showing underneath his blue clothes the heavy built of a dwarf.

"Dwalin! Kíli! What a happy meeting!"

"Mister Boggins!" Greeted Kíli, joking on his own misspelling of the hobbit's name, so many years before.

"Are we late?" Humpfed Dwalin.

"Late? Late for what?" Asked Bilbo, innocently grabbing Dwalin's armoury before it hit the ground.

"Supper!" Was his answer, already down the corridor to the dining room. Bilbo shrugged and smiled to the younger dwarf.

"Some things never change, huh?"

"Aye!" Agreed Kíli. "Just like you are a Baggins of Bag End!"

Bilbo dropped Dwalin's things on his mother's glory box and shut the door behind Kíli with a kick.

"I must admit my Tookish side woke up on that quest and never found its sleep again. Come on, let's ride the pantry."

-x-

"Now tell me, how're things in the west coast? Dwalin told me a lot about Erebor when he came this way, but it has been some time since any caravan stopped here. Anyway, no caravan would ever tell me about you personally, after all."

Bilbo poured them some good wine, no shadow of the confused hobbit that almost freaked out when a bunch of dwarves overran his home ten years ago.

"Why not?" Questioned Kíli, cleansing the last of the meat broth from his bowl with a chunk of bread. "I walk amongst them every day, just like you go, whatever, to buy potatoes in the market-place or something like that. Most probably people are just too hasty to stop and drop a word."

"Probably." Agreed Bilbo. "So, how are things, then?"

"Pretty boring, but this means good news. Most things that break the boredom are orc raids, so… better be bored."

"To this I must agree." Bilbo put some tobacco in his pipe and lit it. "And Lady Dís? I hoped to see her again."

"Ye will." Granted Dwalin. "She's in Erebor since last year."

"Oh." Was the hobbit's disappointed remark. "Well, it would be too much to expect her to visit a humble hobbit hole in her journey, I deem."

"Nah; Mom is not of this kind. She just travelled with a large caravan and to stop here would attract too much attention."

"Ah, right." Bilbo seemed more comfortable. "Anyway, we'll be there soon, ain't we?"

"Before Summer ends." Kíli lit his own pipe and puffed a small smoke mushroom. "I'll never forgive myself if I arrive late to my brother's wedding."

Bilbo frowned, intrigued, but anything he was about to ask was cut short by a warning look from Dwalin, who stood up.

"Then we'd better get some sleep and start early tomorrow. The ponies will be rested and provisions replenished, so the laddies at the Green Dragon granted to me."

"Splendid!" Bilbo smiled. "I'll just do the dishes and will be ready to sleep. If you wish a bath before resting, we have enough hot water for it."

"We do the dishes in a minute, if you don't mind."

"As long as you don't do any of the terrible things you use to sing while at it…"

All the three laughed and (mostly) orderly sent the dirty plates and silverware to the kitchen, singing the old tavern song that scared Bilbo so much when his mother's pottery from the West Farthing was involved.

"… that's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"

"Go dump yerself in that hot water Bilbo mentioned, laddie; your pony deserves it."

"Why?" Kíli mockingly complained. "We're away from home just a couple of weeks!"

Dwalin grumpfed something incomprehensible and pushed Kíli in the general direction of the sleeping quarters of Bilbo's house. As soon as the young dwarf was out of sight, the battered warrior faced the hobbit.

"Don't. Ever. Say. A word."

"What?" Bilbo looked up at Dwalin, two hundred percent confused.

"Don't mention his wedding."

"But… why?"

It seemed so absurd that Bilbo couldn't fathom it.

"He doesn't know."

"Know what?"

Dwalin rolled his eyes, losing his patience and scarce subtlety.

"Kíli doesn't know he's going to his own wedding."

"But you told me…"

"Aye, I told you _in_ _confidence_, and I count on your discretion, understood?"

"But… But why can't he know he's going to… to his _own_ marriage? In my simple hobbit mind it doesn't make any sense!"

Dwalin looked at the walls as if pleading to the stone to lend him some strength.

"Since that elf sacrificed herself for him the lad decided he'll never marry. But he's a prince, and not all royal marriages happen solely out of love. I myself think it stupid, but Thorin decided it is Kíli's duty to perform this wedding, so…"

"Goodness! I know my opinion matters nothing in such a case, but I'd lecture Thorin about it if I had a chance!"

"You'll have it soon enough. Thorin prizes your opinion over most of ours, so maybe you can have success where we failed."

Bilbo blinked twice, thinking, before uttering his next question.

"What does Lady Dís think about this?"

Dwalin half smiled.

"Mostly, the same as you. That's why Thorin kept her in Erebor and sent just me to fetch the laddie."

"Hmm." A shadow of satisfaction crossed the hobbit's face. "At least someone has good sense in this family."

"And you'll show some good sense not telling a word to Kíli until Thorin does it. And telling Thorin out of this stupid idea _before_ he does it."

"Seems like a good plan." Bilbo agreed.

"So be it."


	6. Chapter 6 - Dale

The bells of Dale rang when the entourage of Rohan showed upon the southern hill, coming from the Long Lake. A very proud Bard, accompanied by a happy Bain and an overanxious Tilda awaited for them at the gates of the town. As soon as they got in each other's sight, the sisters ran to embrace, tears of joy spreading over her faces.

"I missed you so much!"

They said in unison.

Sigrid stepped back to take a proper look at her younger sister.

"By Ilúvatar, you've grown, sister!" Tilda kind of looked down at herself, thinking of how Sigrid had seen her last time. It was when her older sister was married to Dunwine, Third Marshal of Rohan, five years previously, and she was only sixteen years old. Sigrid noticed the younger one's embarrassment and changed the subject slightly. "You've grown so beautiful!"

Blushing a little, Tilda beheld her sister, her changed body after pregnancy and childbirth, arms built strong with the charge of baby-sitting two infants before her own was born, fine clothes of a make that didn't reach those northward lands yet, and a smile that was of real happiness.

"So did you, sister!"

The men greeted each other in a more sober way, but Bard cradled his first grandson in his arms as a precious treasure, a rare smile gracing his tired face. Bain was not married yet, and probably would not be in several years to come, but if everything else failed, the line of Girion was secured in that little chubby baby.

"Hope you had a safe journey?"

Bard asked his son-in-law, with a tap on his shoulder. The blond rider of Rohan answered with a broad smile.

"Not a trouble the whole way. Of course we always set watch, but orcs don't care about watchers if they have a mind to slaughter."

The group of Rohirrim had dismounted and was settling their horses before anything else. It was not an army, but not a tiny group, either, and Bard wondered that no small band of orc would dare them in the open. The baby in his arms cooed.

"So, little fellow, how do you like your grandpa here?" The baby crossed his eyes, trying and failing to focus. "Ready to have some bow lessons?"

Dunwine smirked with pride.

"As soon as Sigwine is able to hold himself upon a horse, milord Bard!"

Bard smiled.

"Not too long to wait, if he takes after his mother. Now, inside Dale everybody, the kitchens will be busy to prepare you a meal fit for travellers in a few hours. In the meanwhile, the cellars will grant you some refreshment, I'm sure."

"Had a good harvest?"

"The best in years!"


	7. Last Days on the Road

**A/N: Thank you all for the kind reviews, follows and favorites! My heart beats faster every time you send me a wink!**

-xxx-xxx-xxx-

The sight of Erebor hit an inner chord in Bilbo, who felt without taking notice that that place meant more to him than he wanted to admit. Besides his feelings, it was huge, and overwhelming by its own nature.

"What a view!" He said under his breath, glad he was seeing it again with all the comfort of riding a pony instead of a barrel.

"It's good to see home." Kíli's smile was as big as Bilbo's eyes to the enormous mountain, even if it was still far away.

"Aye, laddies, we're almost there." Dwalin piped in, considering the height of the sun in the sky. "If we ride a bit harder we may reach Lake Town and sleep in proper beds for once."

"Wasn't it burned by… by Smaug?" Bilbo half feared to say the dragon's name. "I thought everybody moved to Dale."

"A lot of people, aye. But not all of them." Corrected him Kíli. "They rebuilt it even better than it was before the dragon came first time, out of good stone from the Mountain. The King of Dale is also King over Lake Town, but their people elect their own mayor, who answers the King."

"We hobbits elect our mayor, too, albeit the Thainship runs through the Took family line. It was given by the King of Arnor and Gondor, and only the King can take it back."

"I see." Kíli nodded, understanding. "Lake Town is what it is because its location allows easy trading of goods from Dale and Erebor in the North, Forest Kingdom in the West, Dorwinion in the South-east, and the Iron Hills in the East. We don't even count the South route, because Gondor is really too far away for good trading, despite some merchants dare to take the long routes for rare and exquisite items."

"If ye don't shut up the ponies will believe it a lazy day and take their time; I want a warm bed tonight, if ye take my meaning."

Bilbo didn't take Dwalin's meaning, and would be scandalized if he did, but thought it better not to anger the dwarf. Both him and Kíli shut up their mouths like good laddies and off they rode.

-x-

When the Mountain was close enough to be reached after a day's ride there was no soul able to keep Kíli and Bilbo from riding non-stop, even if said soul was Dwalin's, followed by the ponies' souls, if ponies have souls at all, but this is a philosophic question that won't be addressed here.

"I can't wait to be there. Can you believe it's been almost two years since I've seen my brother?" Said Kíli, in a happy anxiety.

"This is hard to believe." Bilbo answered. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you and Fíli are that kind of twins who even create a particular language to use amongst themselves. I've heard about a pair of Proudfoots who are this way."

Kíli blushed and Dwalin informed.

"They had it, until Dís found it out and prohibited them to use it. She said anything that wasn't right to be said in Khuzdul shouldn't be said at all."

"It was just a childish play, we didn't mean anything wrong by it."

"This I'm sure." Bilbo crossed eyes at Kíli. "Just like you didn't mean anything by mentioning _night orc raids_ with, what were the words? Oh, yes, _no screams, just lots of blood_."

"Oh, come on, that was only a joke."

"A joke your Uncle didn't take well, by the way."

"He never gets a joke well."

"Not when the joke is on him." Dwalin chuckled. "But he was quite all right with joking when he scared you atop the Carrock."

Bilbo breathed deep and closed his eyes, recalling what he felt then, both the good and the bad part. He was so anguished at the sight of Thorin laying still on the bear-shaped stone outcrop, and then the relief of seeing him breathing and…

"Were I some inches taller, I'd push him over that border, for sure!"

"What?" Bilbo was stunned by Kíli's comment.

"It was not fair. I was already angry at him for shaking himself from me and Fíli, we were just helping him to stand up after what we deemed to be his end, and then he yelled those… those _obscenities_ at you! Frankly, my blood boiled."

Bilbo looked at the young dwarf with new eyes. The two brothers had been friendly to him since the Shire, but to imagine any of them standing against Thorin in his favour… The only moment he really saw it happening had been when Thorin found out he stole the Arkenstone and wanted to throw him down the rampart. If it weren't for Fíli, he would become hobbit jelly at the Mountain's feet, he was sure. But by then Thorin was not himself anymore, sick with gold sickness, heritage of a dragon who slept on that treasure for too long.

But at the Carrock… He couldn't recall the faces of anyone but Thorin, and angry Thorin yelling at him and making him want to jump down the stone outcrop by himself, no need to be thrown down. But then… the change in the dwarf's words and tone… the unexpected hug… and that smile…

Thorin's smiles were so rare, and because of its rarity, so precious. Bilbo could recall his smile when he understood his plan with mentioning _parasites_ at the Troll Shaw; that moment in the Carrock; when he saw him with the keys of Thranduil's dungeons; when…

It was kind of embarrassing to himself to acknowledge he knew by heart every occasion Thorin smiled his precious smiles, but it was true. Bilbo couldn't say the same about Dís, who had the same sapphire eyes, the same stunning smile, and the same sexy beard.

No, wait, beards are not sexy, at least amongst hobbits, so how could he…

But Dís was _not_ a hobbit, and her beard _was_ sexy, even if it reminded him so much of Thorin's.

Or exactly because of this.

Bilbo heaved a sigh, knowing the dilemma he just fell into would keep his mind busy for hours, to no result. It had been heaven when he got to know Dís, who looked every inch of Thorin in a female as one could wish for, but then her personality, as strong as her brother's, had also a sweetness and an understanding only someone who faced motherhood could have. Of course one could say Thorin had qualities only someone who faced war could have, and it would be true. Yet, Bilbo suspected to be mother of Fíli and Kíli was some special kind of war, too. He was very fond of those two, and wouldn't mind to spend more time around that family. To know Kíli had been angry at Thorin atop the Carrock… Warmed his heart to the Durin sons even more.

"Well, I suspect my first impression on Thorin wasn't exactly the best, to say the least."

"To say the least!" Agreed Dwalin, chuckling.

"Aye, to say the least!" Kíli laughed too, and so they hurried to reach Erebor before dusk.


	8. Erebor, at Last

A/N: A short one, but necessary for the development of the story. I promisse next chapter will be longer. Thank you again for all your kind reviews!

-xxx-xxx-xxx-

An official arrival party would be held later, but the first encounter was with family and friends, not with the official staff. Ponies were left with the stablemen and the newcomers hastily led through lateral corridors not to draw attention, until they reached the royal wing. Bilbo could almost feel the difference in the atmosphere, a change that left the air lighter, sounder, and… lovelier.

"Bilbo! My good Bilbo!"

Balin crashed a hug into the hobbit's chest, visibly moved. Dwalin humpfed for his brother greeting the visitor first instead of himself, but smiled at the sight of Dís, who moved graciously into their direction, letting Fíli run to embrace his younger brother. Dís was everything Dwalin could dream about a dwarrowdam, obviously nothing he could dare to dream for himself. She was sister of his brother-in-arms, she was his own sister in a way. In a way that meant he'd never think about her as nothing more than a sister. And, like any good older brother, he'd never let anyone '_wrong_' get close to her.

Thorin clapped his hands on Dwalin's shoulders, a restrained smile showing everything was all right, and that his homecoming was a joy.

"A good ride?"

"And a fast one."

The cousins looked at the ones who greeted, hugged, shouted, laughed and cried their joy; a side smile was all they both were able to share in public, at least while sober. Thorin let Dwalin's arm go and took a step forward.

"So, here is my burglar."

Bilbo stopped at the deep voice of Thorin, unable to keep himself from looking and enjoying what he saw. A smile spread on his face like fire on dry grass.

"Thorin!"

Said Thorin walked lively in the direction of the hobbit, giving a damn to protocol. Anyway, they were in reserved quarters, no protocol required, for all he knew, and he would not waste time counting how many times he gave a damn to any protocol for the sake of Bilbo. That would be giving too much consideration for what deserved none.

A whoosh of silk whipped Thorin's face and outran him in the direction of Bilbo, taking hold of the hobbit before any of them could figure out what was happening.

"What…?"

Dís was happening.

"So, here is _my _neighbour!"

"What do you mean, _your_ neighbour? Bilbo is _my_ burglar, since always!"

"Hah! How many times did he burgle something for you? And how many times did we share a tea and biscuits like good neighbours?" She elbowed Bilbo lightly in the ribs, causing him a discomfort that was more than physical.

"Burglary is not something one does on a regular basis, not if one has the chance, unlike having tea and biscuits!"

"Oh, yes? And how many times did _you_ have a tea and biscuits with Bilbo, might I ask?"

"Ah…"

"As I imagined." She turned to Bilbo with a perfect smile. "Welcome, my dear friend."


	9. Mighty Gifts

"Fíli. Kíli. My lads."

Kíli took in a deep breath, knowing his uncle always started a serious conversation with him and his brother with those words. Most of the day had been feasting on their good journeying, meeting old friends, and this night, already high on mead, it wasn't entirely reasonable to have a serious conversation, but when Thorin called on it, so it would be.

"Aye, Uncle." The brothers answered in unison. Fíli was more at easy, used to have Thorin closer to him, preparing him for the responsibilities to come. Kíli felt lost, like he felt sometimes at the Blue Mountains, where he had to take so many decisions without Thorin to guide his steps nor Fíli to burst up his confidence. Only Dís, who more suggested than decided, more pointed out different views of a problem than guided him in the right direction. At least, that was his feeling about it. Thorin was always '_do this, do that_', a sure leadership of what the settlement needed; Dís, on the other hand, always forced him to make his own decisions, and discussed the possible results of each alternative. It was tiresome and trying, and he was never sure if his decision was the best. He always feared he was not being fully representative of Thorin, but just momy's lad playing to rule the settlement. It was obvious how Fíli felt so much more confident.

"You must know, from now on, that I'm about to grant you both some mighty gifts. Our library hasn't any record of such gifts, yet, and it is up to you to take them or not. Just remember the future of our people is concerned."

This sounded scary, that talk about the future, and sure it was named a _gift_ only because they could refuse. But usually Thorin made such game of words when he wanted to convince them to take the course of action he intended, despite their own wishes. Kíli felt a shiver down his spine.

"We hear you, Uncle." Said Fíli, smilingly. Whatever it was, the older brother felt more confident about it than the younger one.

"Fíli, you've been by my side most of the time, and I've watched you and your deeds closely. Despite your young age, you achieved more in terms of warfare and wisdom in the dealing of state issues than many a weathered warrior or councillor. I deem you ready to take on more responsibilities and the bonus that comes with them. So, it was decided by me and agreed by the Council that the day of your wedding will also be the day of your coronation. I'm abdicating the throne to you."

"What?"

Fíli went white as chalk and Kíli reached a hand to his elbow fearing his brother would faint. A wedding gift could be anything, but the crown of Erebor was more than expected, much more.

"Next Durin's Day, Fíli, when my cousin Dáin Ironfoot puts Nina's hand in yours, I'll also put the crown of our ancestors on your head."

Thorin smiled one of his rare and precious smiles.

"But… But why?" Fíli almost cried. "Uncle, you dreamt all your life to retake Erebor and to see the dragon gone, how can you…"

"And this I did, Fíli. I achieved this dream. Our people prospers, the kingdom of Erebor is restored. I fought most of my life to grant our people would strive in exile, to build our halls in the Blue Mountains, to keep the Seven Kingdoms united… I can barely recall a day, since Smaug took Erebor, that I didn't fight for Durin's folk wellbeing. And it was worthy, every day of it. But now…" His sapphire eyes took a longing look to the infinite. "Now I feel my task is done. I'm two-hundred-five, my mind is sane, my body is healthy and, moreover, I have more than capable heirs, surrounded by more than trustworthy councillors. Why should I wait?"

"Uncle…" It was Kíli to speak now, eyes wide as saucers. "Like you said, you achieved your dreams, why not to enjoy its results? It is your time to rule in times of peace, without worries and…"

Thorin stopped his younger nephew with a gesture of his hand and a smiling shake of his head.

"Kíli. My lad. Soon you'll know there's no ruling without worries, if you didn't find it out yet." Kíli agreed with a nod, pursing his lips. Only he deemed it was because he was inexperienced and the Blue Mountains had a lot of undesirable neighbours. "I won't disappear like our hobbit burglar is able to. I'll be right here to help and advise you both when needed. But I also will have the chance to live lighter, to travel a bit at my will and not the will of duty, to drink a goblet of wine with Dori, a mug of ale with Bofur and a shot of spirit with Dwalin and I won't have to choose which one I'll do each day. Bilbo explained to me the concept of _retirement_, and I liked it. Actually, I'll propose to the next king and the Council to extend this concept to everyone. It is quite simple: you work for several years, and then, at a certain age, you retire from work and so you can spend your last years with your family and doing things you like instead of your work only."

"Erm… why would someone work at something he or she doesn't like?"

Thorin blinked and considered it, as even when he worked as smith for humans it was, well, it was smithing.

"I don't know about hobbits and humans, but for us it would be more like working only the amount of hours one is inclined to. Or, to exemplify it in my person, I'll be able to work a bit at the forge instead of having council meetings, and traveling to see my friends when I have a mind to it."

The brothers turned to each other.

"It sounds good!"

"Aye. And if some people chose to continue working, it would not be a problem, if they are to do things they like."

"This sounds really good."

"Aye. And this I intend to do, if only I have a heir willing to accept the Raven Crown from my hands. Will you, Fíli, son of Dís?"

Fíli felt a little uncomfortable whenever someone mentioned his name as _son of Dís_, not of his father, but he knew it was because the blood of Durin's line ran to him through his mother rather than his father, of far humbler lineage. Calling him _son of Dís_ meant he was being called to his duty to Durin's folk, and that was above any personal wish. Moreover, he was being trained to take his uncle's responsibilities on his shoulders since he knew himself as a person. Only he didn't expect it to happen with Thorin alive. It had always been something that would happen several years, or even decades, ahead.

But then, to take the crown _and_ having Thorin alive and kicking at his side was the best world he could imagine. To be named king when the one he loved as a father was dead would be a horrible beginning for a kingship, despite it being the norm. _The king is dead; long live the king_, was the norm. What would the new words be?

"Uncle, I-I…" For a moment the blond dwarf stuttered, afraid saying _uncle_ instead of a more formal wording would be wrong, when said uncle addressed him as _son of Dís_. But it was no formality, only them three where there in Thorin's studio.

"I'll be around for a long while, most probably, and you can counsel with me anytime you wish, of course."

"I… I never thought I would have to make such a hard decision, Uncle. I'… I can't imagine you in any place of Erebor that not the throne. But if this is your wish, and you truly trust I'll be able to… _to_ _reign_…"

"I'm sure you'll be a great king for our people, Fíli. I would not offer the crown to you if I weren't completely sure."

The warm smile that reached his sapphire eyes left no doubt Thorin was being sincere. Kíli beamed with pride on his older brother.

"Hey, you'll do great, Fee! You've been prepared for this all your life. Adad would be proud of you!"

A subtle tear played in Fíli's eye as the mention of their father called back memories of his early childhood. It was not much, but the smile and the shine of dark green eyes like his brother's on a blond face like his own was a precious picture only his mind held.

"Yes… Yes, he would…" Fíli smiled back at Kíli, and then at Thorin. "Yes, I will do it, Uncle. Counting on your guidance, I'll do it. Mahal help me that I govern Durin's folk with your wisdom and courage."

They embraced warmly, Fíli's heart beating fast. He would be king, but Thorin would be there too, and he would marry Nina and have some heirs and…

"Kee…" He turned to his brother, faking an angry warning. "Don't you dare to spoil the upcoming king's heirs like Thorin did to us!"

"What, me?" Kìli pointed at himself with both hands, pretending to be indignant. "Of course I won't do the same, Fee. From me, the least you should expect is that I'll do worse!"

They shared a good laugh and then Thorin turned to Kíli, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Now, Kíli. My lad. I must talk about you."

"Sure!" Kíli smiled wide. "But don't worry, I'm ready to do it."

"What?" Asked Thorin with a frown. "Are you sure?"

"Of course! Nothing will make me more happy than to pledge fealty to the new king. Not with you being still around, I mean."

Thorin perceived Kíli's misunderstanding, and heaved a sigh. Kíli didn't know his plan, after all.

"Oh. So. Kíli, there is more about it. As a fact, aye, I expect you to pledge to the new king of Erebor, because this is what the kings of the other six clans are expected to do. But there is something more I expect from you. As I said, I'm about to give you both mighty gifts. The Raven Crown is Fíli's, and yours…" Thorin pulled a piece of blue velvet from something that outstood on his bureau, slow and deliberately, enjoying the surprise. "Yours is the Wolf Crown. If you take my offer."


	10. More than Words

A/N: Here we go again, now with a bit of Dale and more of Erebor. Mess tends to happen simultaneously in these parts of Middle-earth, it seems. Enjoy and review if you like it!

-xxx-xxx-xxx-xxx

It was the fourth day since Sigrid and the Rohirrim arrived and also the fourth day of loud Rohirrim feasting. Tilda had left the feasting hall to walk in the gardens, tired of the loud talking and clattering of mugs of the guests. All right, she knew all free peoples should unite against orcs and goblins and stuff, but did the Rohirim have to be noisy like dwarves? Her head ached, and she asked her leave. Her head was just stopping from throbbing when she noticed she was close to her father's studio, and its window showed light inside. Curious as a cat, she got close to know what was happening.

"Did you see your sister?"

Bard asked Bain, after a warm clap of hands on his shoulder as a greeting.

"I just left her and the baby. He looks like Tilda when she was tiny, only with lighter hair."

The bowman smiled at the description of his grandson, Sigwine.

"That he is, Bain! But I was asking about Tilda herself. I've kept the news from her too long, now. Albeit it is a happy occasion, she must know about her marriage at least a fortnight before it happens."

"Only a fortnight? I can't believe you didn't tell her yet, Da! She should have time to prepare, you know."

Bard dismissed his worry with a gesture.

"Everything is prepared, Bain. Her new home will lack nothing, be it here or on her fiancé's land. I mustn't mention how rich he is, of course."

Bain rolled his eyes.

"It is not about this, Da; Tilda should have time to prepare _herself_, her heart and mind, for such a step. It is not like going for a picnic, it is going to live the rest of her life with someone she barely knows!"

Bard pursed his lips and frowned, while taking a bottle of wine and a pair of goblets.

"Aye, I know. But I wished to wait until he reached this land, and it didn't happen until this morning. Actually, I wasn't sure he would make it."

Bain agreed, knowing how dangerous the mountain passes could be. Then something occurred to him.

"How old is he by now? It's been years since I've seen him last time."

"Eighty-eight, for all I know."

The young man gave half a smile at the number. You could never know with dwarves. Fíli was older than Kíli by five years, yet one could mistake him for someone Bain's own age.

"Most men are dead or widowers by the age he's taking his first wife. What if Tilda doesn't agree to this marriage? You know it can happen."

"I don't think so. I'm sure she will be surprised, but Tilda is a smart lassie. She'll see it is the wisest choice."

Said smart lassie fled from the garden as silently as she could, considering her urge to cry, so she was unable to hear when her father and brother lifted their cups and toasted her upcoming wedding, and lost the information that could change all her actions from then on.

"To Kíli and Tilda!"

"To Tilda and Kíli!"

It would be several days until she knew the name of her husband-to-be.

-xxx-

Meanwhile, in Erebor…

The brothers beheld the uncovered crown with awe. Fíli suspected it was coming, Thorin mentioned he was about to give Kíli a solid sign of his authority over the Blue Mountains but he hadn't been allowed to see it before, so the surprise was real. He couldn't believe so a fair craftmanship could also show so much strength, and for a moment he almost envied his brother.

Kíli, on his part, was speechless. The piece of art Thorin named Wolf Crown was made of some sort of steel, an unusual choice for a crown, but in this case it fit. The stylized shape of a wolf's head could be noticed in the grooves, strong fangs, piercing look, watchful ears, and paws that would come down to its wearer's cheeks like the claws of the raven did in the traditional crown of Erebor. The metal had a bluish sheen, polished enough to be used as a mirror, weren't it curved, with indentations that now detailed the wolf's design and then revealed the traditional knots of Durin's line. The lack of gold, unimaginable in something of dwarven make with such a meaning, was more than compensated by the wisps of mithril that painted it with a richness of detail that no gold filigree would achieve. It shone like starlight.

"_I always thought it is a cold light, remote and far away._"

Kili could hear his own words uttered in the first night of his captivity in Thranduil's dungeons. But the voice that answered him that night sounded so real in his ears that Kíli almost looked around in the hope of seeing her one more time.

"_It is memory, precious and pure. Like your promise._"

It had been the first time their hands touched without the strain of captive and capturer on them. He would never forget it. It was a memory precious and pure like the light of the stars, too.

She would have liked it, or at least acknowledge its beauty for what it was. And it had a pure beauty, like that of the stars.

"It is beautiful…"

Kíli's hand reached for the crown before his brain commanded it; he was not the only one.

"Mithril cast on blue steel…" Fíli's dreamy voice passed beside Kíli, and reached out his hand too. "Strength and beauty shown in the head of a wolf, the most loyal of all beasts of prey." He turned his eyes to Kíli, worried. "The wolf leader doesn't hesitate to sacrifice himself for the safety and wellbeing of the pack. This sounds too much like you, little brother. This crown is meant for none but you, I swear."

Kíli diverged his eyes from the new crown only to stop at Fíli's back, where he knew an ugly scar and lots of pain kept the memory of the Battle of the Five Armies alive in his brother's life as in his.

"None in this studio can brag about being less willing to sacrifice for our folk, big brother. You and Uncle are aware of your duties only too well for me, or anyone who cares about you, to sleep well when you're out on patrol or whatever."

Fíli dismissed Kíli's praise with a smiling shake of his head and Thorin eyed him softly.

"To do less would be in my blood, Kíli?"

A smile of agreement and understanding crossed the space between them.

"No, Uncle. Nor would it be in mine."

The affectionate hug and touching of foreheads was broken by Thorin, who held Kíli's arms and looked piercingly into the youngster's eyes.

"That is the crown of a king. The dwelling of the Long Beards in the Blue Mountains has grown and prospered in the last ten years more than it did in fifty. I expect you to know why."

"Because Erebor was retaken, and this allowed us to trade in better terms with our neighbours." Kíli frowned. "The bettering in the general economy made people more willing to grow their businesses and their families. The burst in births demanded new services and more products, affecting the economy positively, because the families having more children already had the resources for it, unlike it uses to happen in human settlements. A sound economy allows to keep a better guard, and so our patrols are able to protect both the settlement and the surrounding area from raids of any kind, lessening losses and…"

"Shh… Kíli, I just made a rhetoric question." Thorin shortened the endless answer. Kíli looked down at his toes, as if he were a dwarfling that had done something wrong and waited for a scolding. "I know you know exactly why everything is as it is in the Blue Mountains. And not because your mother told me so." If Kíli were still a child, Thorin would have cupped his face to make the lad to look up again. As it was, a deep sigh was all it took. "The Blue Mountains' dwellings are ready to be independent from Erebor. They only need a king. I count on you."

Kíli couldn't help but to cover his mouth with a hand. It was too much, it was…

"But… But Fíli… Erebor and the Blue Mountains… All Longbeards… It cannot be separated!"

"And it won't." Assured Thorin.

"Now I'm understanding even less."

"History of other peoples should have the same attention you give to economics, lad."

"It's been done before… by Men…" Murmured Fíli when he got the idea.

"And not far from our home in the Blue Mountains, by the way." Completed Thorin.

"Of course!" Kíli finally understood. "Like the realms of Arnor close to us and Gondor in the south. Though far apart, and ruled by two kings, they worked together as one wide realm!"

"And their first kings when the ruling was divided…"

"Were two brothers!"

"Actually, Isildur and his brother Anarion ruled together but Isildur was counted as High King of Arnor and Gondor." Clarified Thorin, a smile in his eyes for having his heirs quite literate in foreign affairs. "Like the King of Erebor is king over all the Seven Clans, and will also be over the King of the Blue Mountains."

"But it will be different with us." Kíli granted, with a smile.

"Of course it will, your imp. Because we're brothers."

"And because you're both Longbeards, heirs of Durin. Never forget this." Advised Thorin. "I never left Dáin forget it, by the way."

"Nah, you and Dáin are only cousins."

"Don't underestimate a cousin, Fíli. Cousins are the brothers Mahal gives you at a safe distance so one doesn't kill the other whilst growing up."

Fíli and Kíli looked at each other, grinning like fools. Thorin planned everything to be perfect.

"You both have done everything together since Kíli was able to crawl. I remember Balin saying you were twins separated by five years, and I must agree with him. You grew up together, learnt things together, pestered me together… almost died in battle together… now it's time to rule together, to be crowned together. What do you say, Kíli son of Dís? Do you accept my offer?"

Kíli blinked hard and his voice almost trembled.

"This is the most unexpected gift I ever imagined, Uncle, but aye, I accept it. With you and Fíli and Amad to support me, I believe I'll be able to do it, Mahal allow it and Durin guide me!"

Thorin held Kíli's shoulder affectionately, then put his card on the table.

"So, then, it is settled. The day of Fíli's wedding will be the day of his coronation, and the day of your coronation too, and of your wedding."


	11. Sisters for Life

A/N: Thank you everybody who left a word or two on last chapter, you make all the effort worth it!

-xxx-xxx-xxx-

"Siggie! Siggie!"

Sigrid hurried to open the bedchamber door, dizzy from sleep.

"Hush, what…" Her sister's red eyes left no doubt there was trouble, and woke her to full awareness faster than a blast of a horn of Rohan could do. "Come in, the baby is asleep."

Tilda rushed in and into her sister's arms, sobbing like a child.

"Hush, Tilda, what's going on? What happened?"

"Siggie, it's terrible, it's so terrible, Siggie!"

"Calm down, calm down… Sit here with me and tell me what's so terrible, will ya?"

Hushing her sister like she did when they were children and their mother was no more, Sigrid brought Tilda to her bed and made her to sit. Rocking her back and forth and humming an old song, the older sister slowly made the younger one calm enough to speak.

"Siggie, I want to die!"

"No, this I'm sure you don't. Now, tell me what happened."

"Nothing happened, not yet, but I will… No, I cannot, I cannot…"

"Cannot what, Til?"

"I cannot marry! Not him!"

"What?"

"I don1t want to marry that man in a fortnight, Siggie, Da cannot be doing this to me!"

"What man? Tilda, breath, breath, breath again and then you tell me, I cannot understand what you're talking about!"

Tilda did as she was told to, slowly recovering the ability to talk coherently.

"Da wants to marry me to an old man. I overheard him talking to Bain, he didn't tell me yet because the man is so old Da didn't know if he'd make it to Dale, but he did. Now this man in here and Da wants me to marry him in a fortnight!"

Sigrid frowned at the absurd of Tilda's revelations.

"An old man? Who's this old man, Tilda, for heaven's sake?"

Tilda noticed she didn't have a plain answer to this.

"I don't know! Da and Bain just talked about him, Da said everything was prepared, mentioned he's rich, but I couldn't get a name. But he's old, Sigrid, he's so very old! I respect elderly people, you know, but I don't want to _marry_ one! I can even get old along my husband, but not have a decrepit man to begin with! It's not fair!"

Sigrid took a swaddle to wipe the fresh outburst of tears.

"How do you know he's old if you don't even know who this man is?"

"Da told it. Bain Asked how old the man is and Da said he's eighty-eight. This is almost ninety, Sigrid, this _is_ old, on any account!"

"Oh, Tilda!" Sigrid could only embrace her sister and pity her. Her marriage arrangement to Dunwine had been almost in the dark, but he had come to live in Dale and serve in her father's guard for a year before they wed. Now, what was planned for Tilda…

"I wanna die, Siggie, what else could I do?"

Sigrid rocked her sister back and forth again, trying to find some comforting words or an idea to save her from such a terrible fate.

"Maybe his age can be an advantage, Tilda; he'll probably die in a few years and…"

The sobbing grew stronger, making it clear the idea was not a good one. Maybe a dirtier one…

"Perhaps you can maintain a façade with him and have an affair with someone younger, maybe even a son of his."

"Sigrid! This would be cheating!" Even abhorring the idea of marrying that man, the idea of betrayal was not an acceptable one. "And it would more likely be a grandson, considering his age. Anyway, he doesn't have sons, it's his first marriage."

Sigrid found it strange.

"First marriage at this age? What's wrong with this man?"

"Everything! Everything is wrong with this man, and I will _not_ marry him!"

For the first time Tilda was having an assertive posture, and Sigrid hoped it put the idea of wanting to die well away from her sister's mind.

"So, this is decided and I completely agree. Now what will we do?"

Swift as it came, Tilda's boldness left.

"Ah… What… What will we do, Siggie? What will I do?" Tears found their way back to her eyes. "If I only could escape this fate…"

"Escape…" Sigrid repeated the word, eyes far away, thinking. "Escape…" She suddenly lifted her head. "Tilda, I think you can escape! I'm not sure it's still possible, but I think I know of a way for you to escape!"

"What? How?"

Hope was in their voices again as Sigrid explained her plan to Tilda.

"When me and Dunwine were engaged, after some months we begun to want to meet more time than it was allowed by custom. You know Dale was being rebuilt, but there were still several gaps and holes in the walls. We found one of those passageways that none had fixed yet, and we used it to go outside Dale and… well, there's a chance the hole is still there."

Tilda's eyes shone with hope.

"Aye, it may! People are working more on repairing houses and workshops and silos than worrying about the walls, at least since that last raid two years before you wed, when the ravens gave alarm and the orcs were dead before they reached the outskirts of the Mountain, do you remember?"

"Aye, I do! And this is your hope!" Her mind raced. "I have a saddlebag here with Sigwine's things. I'll empty it so you can put some food and clothes. Don't forget some tools like a fire kit and a knife, and a sleeping roll. Our horses are outside, they don't stand stone stables like we have here, I'll go outside with you, I introduced you to my horse already, didn't I?"

"Aye, that big hazelnut one, isn't it?"

"That's it. Broda will take you anywhere you want to and never let you fall, I assure you. What makes me wonder…"

"What?"

"Where will you go to?"

Tilda's eyes lost a bit of their light at the question.

"Where do you live?"

"In Gondor, but I can't hide you there, Da would find out."

"Dorvinion has commerce with us, this rules it out; Rohan has good relations, too. I don't know where else, Sigrid, what do you think?"

"Hmm. There are towns more to the south than Gondor, and from Rohan you can take the old Green Way north and reach Bree, it's a place with all kind of folk. But all these places are too far away, I don't know how far you'd be able to go on your own, Tilda."

What little light her eyes held was soon lost, but she refused to give up hope.

"The Halfling came from far away, too…"

"Aye, further than Bree."

"The elves of the forest would send me back as soon as I set foot there."

"Long time commercial fellows. With the dwarves of the Iron Hills there's no hope, their chieftain is Thorin's cousin, and Thorin is…"

"… Ass and pants with Da, I know. Maybe… Maybe the wood people, those who live between Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains?"

"This is closer, aye. They're a rude people, I've heard."

"Any rude woodsman will be better than an eighty-eight years old parchment skinned fellow, I deem."

Sigrid looked into Tilda's eyes and saw resolution there.

"So be it. Go fetch your things, I'll find some traveling food, then I'll find you at your rooms, in one hour."

-xxx-

All colour left Kíli1s face in a blink.

"My… what?"

"Your coronation. Your crowning."

"No, the other part! Thorin, what did you say?"

His voice was really angry, leaving no doubt he understood the words quite well.

"The new king of the Blue Mountains is expected to wed a princess of one of our most important allied realms. Just like the new king of Erebor will wed the daughter of the Chieftain of the Iron Hills."

"Uncle, I don't think it was a wise move…" Fíli tried to reason, but Kíli was outraged.

"Expected to wed? _You_ never wed! Why should I…"

"The Council imposed it…"

"To Mordor with the Council! I will _not_ wed! There was only _one_ woman in this world I'd wed, and she lies in our very catacombs!"

Kíli left the studio banging the door behind him, leaving behind a brother that understood him and an uncle that did his best. But politics could easily go beyond the best one was able to do.

"Would… would you be able to talk to him?" Asked Thorin, almost begging with his eyes. Fíli ignored the look with a humpf.

"Now? Now that you pulled his heart out with a spoon and hit it with a flaming hammer?"

"Fíli, the whole Council agrees it will be better for Kíli if he has someone beside him when he takes on the whole responsibilities of kingship, someone to share his anguishes, to ease his worries… It's been ten years, it's time for him to move on!"

"Is it?" Fíli questioned, scowling. "What do you know, or, in this case, what does the Council know about losing someone the way he did? Has anyone of them married after losing his One?"

"Not all royalty marries out of love, Fíli. You know it."

"Aye, I know, _in theory_. But _Amad_ married out of love, _I_ am marrying out of love, why do you think Kíli – _Kíli_, of all dwarves you know – will accept to marry out of… of… _politics_?"

The blond prince all but spat the last word and left the studio banging the door behind him.

Thorin bowed his head and run his fingers through his hair.

Someone would have to fix those hinges soon, probably.


	12. Betrayed

**A/N: Thank you for your patience, dearest readers, real life just imposed itself on me yesterday and I was unable to post. I hope you all like these two sisters and one stubborn dwarf shenanigans enough to keep on reading! I love to hear from you, every little review lends me stamina to carry on!**

-xxx-xxx-xxx-

Kíli left the sound of the banging door behind him and stole away with heavy steps. The thought of Thorin considering _buying_ him with a crown…

To Mordor if it was a mithril decorated crown, or if with the crown came the legitimation of his rulership on the Blue Mountains! It was buying a part of him that had no price, and never would.

Brooding on these thoughts and wandering aimlessly, it took not long to notice he was not anymore in any part of Erebor known to him. Actually, this was not very hard, as he never spent long time there. A realm that inhabited his dreams since his childhood held nothing but the memory of his short-lived love story, and it hurt.

Knowing to walk back would eventually lead to some inhabited place, he let himself slide down the wall and sit comfortably on the floor. The coldness of the stone at his back felt good, refreshing, and the silence quieted his troubled mind. Everything summed up, there was no reason to hurry back.

There was nothing to hurry back to.

There was no one to hurry back to.

Thorin, his very uncle… more than a father to him… That was treason, he could only feel betrayed. Thorin _knew_ how he felt about wedding, he _knew_ his decision, how could he…

"_You don't know the pressure that's on him_."

Kíli resisted the urge to look around for the source of the voice. Tauriel would not be there, not even as a ghost. He would be glad if he had a ghost to talk to, some kind of image of her to comfort him, but after the first years he got used to have her voice like a whisper out of nowhere, or her fleeting smile in a dream, and nothing more.

For all he knew, it was more than any widower used to have.

Counting his blessings, he buried his face in his hands, breathed deep to calm down and make a decision level-headed. Or whatever level-headedness he could muster after being betrayed by his kin. He would not bargain his heart for a crown.

Why didn't his mother warn him about this? Was she aware at all? What would she do in his place? Dís was his anchor at Blue Mountains' ruling, patient and firm in her guidance. He wasn't willing to run back to the Royal Wing, too risky to find or be found by Thorin or any other that agreed with him.

And Fíli? Was he a part of the dirty plan, too? It was hard to believe, but his big brother had become closer to Thorin along the last ten years, being personally trained for kingship. He could not risk trusting. Not even his brother.

Well, if Thorin believed he was mature enough to be king on his own, then he would be mature to make decisions for his own life on his own. Right now, the only result to be avoided was to be found and forced to marry a foreign princess he didn't care to know the colour of the beard.

If his own volition counted, said princess could go chase goats in the skirts of the Mountain while he made a new life elsewhere.

And it _would_ count.

-xxx-

Tilda paced the floor of her sleeping quarters, sure the one hour Sigrid mentioned had come and gone away long ago. She packed and repacked the saddlebag three times, making sure there was enough room for the food. Her hair was held in a simple ponytail to keep it out of her face, and her feet were covered by her sturdier boots. Wool trousers would conceal her legs under the dark green skirt of her dress while riding, and a brown coat would keep the chill of down away.

Finally, a soft knock on the door announced Sigrid was there. Tilda let her in and closed it quickly, lest someone would see the movement in the corridor and suspect something was going on in the middle of the night.

"Are you ready?" Asked the older sister.

"What took you so long?" Asked the younger one at the same time.

"I had to nurse Sigwine and then Dunwine came back from whatever feast he was attending and wanted to have some feast with me too, if you take my meaning."

Tilda nodded, embarrassed.

"Here, I took some of our entourage provisions, they are dry and light and shall be enough for a couple of weeks. Each of this water skins will last you for two days, and you can replenish along the way."

As quickly as Sigrid spoke, the traveling food disappeared into Tilda's saddlebag. There were dried fruit and meat, sausages, shelled nuts and way bread, thin and hard, but that would turn soft enough to eat when sprinkled with water. Dried travel rations would become a nourishing soup once rehydrated.

"Do you have everything you need?"

"Aye." Nodded Tilda. "A knife, fire kit, sleeping roll, a comb, soap, extra clothes and some money. Besides my healer satchel, of course."

"Good. Don't forget mittens, your hands can go numb when you ride long in the night and it gets hard to unsaddle a horse when your fingers are stiff."

"I have them here in my pocket, and some peanuts, too."

"Nice!" Smiled Sigrid. "I got you some salt, too, and a small cooking set."

"Ah, Siggie!" Tida had to stop her packing to embrace her sister. "You thought of everything!"

"The Rohirrim are not exactly nomads, but they travel a lot. Even living in Gondor, Lord Thengel is always traveling, and Dunwine with him."

"And you take care of his traveling gear?"

"Everything. His and his March."

"Then I'm sure your Lord Thengel is well served!"

"Now, off we go. You must be far before the sun rises, if you want to have a good head-start."

"Ah, Siggie, I would be lost if it weren't for you!"

They walked with care along the dark corridors of the castle, avoiding with care the most used areas. Soon a back door used mostly to discard garbage let them out in a garbage-smelling alley, and from there they walked briskly to the limits of Dale, each of them holding one side of the saddlebag plus a water skin.

"Are you sure it is this way?" Asked Tilda, anxious.

"Of course I am, Tilda, I sneaked this way times enough to be sure. Just one more turn left and…"

And the outer wall had been repaired.

"No…" Sigrid looked at the wall with forlorn eyes. "I'm sure it was here, Tilda, right here…"

The saddlebag was left on the ground and she banged her hands on the wall as if it would miraculously open a magic passage.

Needless to say, it did not.

"Siggie… Siggie, stop!"

Tilda grabbed Sigrid's hands, scared of seeing her always focused sister in such anger.

"It was here! I _know_ it was here, Tilda!"

"But it isn't anymore, Siggie, and hitting the wall won't help it." The girl understood that underneath went an anger of having her town changed while she was away. "Maybe there's some other gap in the wall, we just have to find it."

"Oh, Tilda, I'm so sorry! I was sure we could get you out in this spot!"

"Maybe the restoration efforts have been harder than I took notice. But there might still be a gap or another, we just must find it."

-xxx-

The bright side of being a royal was that none questioned orders.

The still brighter side was that being known as the reckless part of royalty meant none questioned absurd-like orders, like to saddle up his pony at weird nightly hours.

But Kíli's mind wasn't on any bright side of royalty, life and everything. _Betrayal_ was the recurrent word crossing his thoughts. It was not fair. None of it. Not royalty, nor life, nor being left alive when Tauriel…

"_Don't lose your faith._"

The voice echoed in his mind, pleading. But how could he comply if everything around him was so wrong? Kíli brought the pony to an easier canter, allowing the mare to rest and himself to look around, even if he was sure the source of the voice would not be visible to mortal eyes. A lone star in the west caught his eye, the pure shine calming his heart and easing his mind.

"Never, _amaralimë_. Because Mandos awaits for everyone, and then we'll meet again."

With this sad hope in mind, the haggard dwarf resumed his journey, no destination, no regrets, no forgiveness.

-x-

Both sisters were sweating and swearing by the time they found a place where a tree grew close enough to the wall to be used as a stair, but the ground level outside was bellow enough to prevent them from daring their necks in the fall.

"We could walk on the wall until we find a place where the ground outside is closer."

"With this saddlebag between us and all watchers noticing a couple of women walking on the wall? No thanks. We go down again."

Tilda looked right and noticed the first change in the colour of the sky.

"We must go fast if we are to succeed at all."

"So we will!"

The next chance of escape proved true. A gap was hidden behind tall bushes, that covered it on both sides of the wall, and it was almost the same level in the inside as in the outside.

"Tilda, here! I think we found it!"

"You're right! I can see the outside!"

They crawled down through the overgrown bushes, dragging the saddlebag behind them, puffing and swearing.

"I didn't know you had such a colourful vocabulary, little sister!"

Tilda answered with a colourful sign of her hand.

"You don't seem ignorant to any of my colourful words, big sister!"

"But I'm living amongst rude horsemen, you know…"

"If this is to be accounted as an excuse, I'm living all my life amongst rude fishermen, and you know what I mean."

They both giggled. They were outside the city of Dale, and now it was just to…

A low toned whistle came from Sigrid's lips, and she asked her little sister.

"Do you ride bareback?"

"Not if I can prevent it. I thought Rohirrim horses were not like the elven breed that stands no saddle."

"Some of ours are, but Broda is not a Mearas and will do both. We just have to reach the place where we stowed the saddles and horse gear. On his back it would be faster. Can you whistle like I just did? Broda will answer to this call."

"You… You're really giving me your own horse for me to flee, Sigrid? Won't your husband get mad at you?"

Sigrid shrugged.

"Only if he finds it out. For all I know, Broda was the only one of our horses you were introduced to, so he must have confided in you as someone who was allowed to handle him."

"And the saddle and stuff?"

"Oh, who would imagine little Tilda had such burglar's skills?"

Sigrid's theatrical voice was enough for her sister to giggle, but soon it was stopped by the sound of hooves approaching in the coming down.

"I didn't register Broda was so tall." Tilda murmured, half in awe, half afraid.

"It means he'll ride fast once you're upon him." Sigrid threw the saddlebag to its place and hoped up the horse. "Here, take my hand."

"You've become quite a rider, sis." Tilda settled herself the best she could behind her sister.

"There's no other option in the Ridermark. Now, off we go!"


	13. A Beautiful Day

**A/N: Helo, wonderful readers, thank you so much for bearing with me, all the follows and favorites since last chapter made me smile from ear to ear! Sorry if I didn't answer the reviews yet, life is more hetic than it should, but here we go...**

-xxx-xxx-xxx-xxx-

Bard massaged his temples, trying to ban a migraine that insisted in follow him all day long. Maybe not _actually_ all day, just right after Dorwinion's embassy left the King's Halls. Which was the first meeting in the morning. And now the sun had already set.

The tiny bits of bread decorated with cream cheese and tomato, or with salami slices and olive served as refreshment mid-afternoon did little to settle his stomach. The bowman tried to remember what he had for lunch, until reaching the conclusion he didn't lunch at all. New Esgaroth guild of merchants had an appointment with him and Dorwinion crew took their time.

At least his own people's demands had been lighter on his head; the usual decisions on next patch to repair, reports on patrols, complains about noisy neighbours, authorization for new stalls at the market, reports on harvest and stocking for winter and…

"Da? Are you all right?"

Bain's voice brought him back to real world.

"Wha… Ah, son, sometimes I miss being a bargeman, I swear the oar weighs less than the crown!"

With these words he stood up, only to be overcome by a wave of dizziness.

"Da!"

The young man ran to his father's side, steading him with strong arms. Bard sighed.

"Just a hollow stomach and a clogged mind, son."

"Nothing a good meal won't cure, huh?"

"Exactly!"

"That's a good thing. Our Rohirrim fellows hunted a couple of deer and are roasting them as they use in their land. Dunwine asked why you weren't enjoying the barbecue, so I came to fetch you."

"Ah, that's a good lad." Bard ruffled Bain's hair as they left King's Halls. "Both of you, actually."

"By the way, he mentioned Sigrid's horse is missing. I told him we'll be searching for it first thing in the morning."

"You did well. I'm sorry for the beast, but there's not much one can do when their horses don't stand to be stabled."

"Aye, spoiled little brats, those beasts." Bain laughed.

"True!"

Bard's headache subsided with meat and mead, indeed, and laugher on top. The bowman felt good that most of his responsibilities went to a corner of his mind for a time out, and he could almost feel like a bargeman once again. Almost.

It was close to midnight when one of his main responsibilities came to Bard's mind.

"Tilda!" I forgot to talk to Tilda!"

"What?" Asked the nearest Rohirrim, confused.

"My daughter. Sigrid's sister, I mean. I had to have a conversation with her, but…"

"She must be sleeping by now, Da. Not a good thing you didn't talk to her today, but stirring her sleep won't mend it."

Bard shook his head at his own distraction, but agreed to his son. Mental note: At first light in the morning, tell Tilda about the wedding arrangement. He loathed the political aspect of the union, but level-headed Tilda would agree it was for the best. Besides, he turned down at least half a dozen delegations asking her favour for some distant, irrelevant and/or greedy suitor. Prince Kíli (and, if Thorin King Under the Mountain kept his promise, Kíli King Under the Blue Mountains) lived quite a distance away, but on the civilized part of the world. The friendship and solid relations between Erebor and Dale was to be taken in account and made stronger. And if the dwarf prince was even younger than Fíli, whose bearing made more than one Dale citizen look twice and sigh, the better for Tilda, young and full of life as she was. Yes, it was a good match and she would be happy.

-xxx-

Tilda was happy.

Not the laughingly kind of happy, not the happiness that makes you want to jump and dance. It was more the happiness that makes you smile a secret smile of victory. She had outsmarted an ignominious plan to bind her to a walking museum and now she was free. With a lot of help from her sister, but it didn't matter. She was free, and so, she was happy.

Impossible to know for how long her escapade would go unnoticed, so her main goal was to go as far away from Dale as she was able before anyone found it out. And, obviously, no one finding out she escaped Dale would know how much she was happy.

"Good Broda, good friend Broda…"

The horse neighed in response.

Felling the miles sweeping behind her at the sure galloping of her sister's horse, Tilda began to relax. Whoever found out her runaway, none would know for sure her direction. She made Broda to circle a wide range before turning to her real goal. She hoped it would be deception enough.

Now, south-west to the eaves of Mirkwood, beyond which a new life would be. A simple life, an honest life, dealing with fishes from the Anduin, as fishery was something she knew how to do. And healing, of course. That was something she had to thank for being a noble, the time to study things she liked and not only the ones she needed to survive. But fishing was good, you didn't need sick or hurt people to be able to work. Better for everyone if she could earn her living from fishing instead of from healing. Actually, much better than to deal with court gossip and stiff-necked ambassadors. No more suffocating corsets for Tilda the Free!

-xxx-

"Where is my headstrong younger son?" Dís asked Fíli a short while after starting lunch. "I didn't see your brother at breakfast, but that's not unusual, considering you younglings agenda. Or the lack of it, more precisely."

Dís was in a marvellous state of humour, having met Kíli after a year away from the Blue Mountains, and Bilbo after even more time. She had no idea Thorin had been that fast in revealing his disastrous decision. Or even _aware_ of his disastrous decision.

Fíli eyed his mother from the other side of the table, reaching for a second serving of venison to complete his plate.

"Didn't see him all morning long, Amad. Probably at the forges, pouring anger on a poor piece of steel."

"Anger?" The dwarrowdam questioned, uplifting one eyebrow.

"Anger."

Fíli offered no further explanation, mouth full of mashed potatoes keeping him too busy to develop.

"And what, in Durin's name, might have angered my son enough for him to hide in the forges, I wonder?"

Thorin mumbled something inaudible, eyes on his plate.

"What?"

Now he mumbled a little louder, still not daring to glance at his sister.

"Thorin son of Thrain, do you have any say in my son's anger?"

Her voice was rising as her suspicion grew, and what Fíli said next only contributed for Dís to fume.

"Of course he has. Who else imposed on Kíli a political marriage?"

"What? Thorin, what did we talk on this matter?"

"Uncle wants Kíli married in a fortnight, but probably _forgot_ to inform you. As if the loss of Tauriel meant nothing."

Thorin swallowed as fast as he could without choking and pointed his fork at Fíli.

"First, it's not _me_, it's the Council; second, I never disrespected Tauriel's memory, she was granted…"

"…a tomb along our ancestors, aye, but Kíli's widower's state…"

"Kíli's not a widower, they didn't marry at all!"

"Not in dwarven fashion, but…"

"And in what fashion a Durin's heir is supposed to marry?"

Both dwarrow were standing now, Fíli using his fist to point things out by hitting the table and Thorin with his fork at close range to his nephew's nose.

"Shazara!" The dwrrowdam shouted both quiet, losing her temper at last. "Fíli, my brother might be stubborn, stupid and clueless, but he's still your uncle and king and deserves your respect as such." The prince bowed low and gestured a deep apology to said king, sitting again to hear the conversation in silence. If his mother was taking the fight for herself, he would be glad to be only a spectator and not at the wrong side of her wrath. Dís turned to said brother, who was confused as to what she considered he was clueless, which made him more clueless than before. "And you, Thorin, remind yourself _you_ are the king and that the council _advises_, doesn't rule."

"But…"

"No '_buts'_, brother, no Council forced _you_ to marry and no Council will force _my_ son to marry. Moreover if he considers himself a widower, dwarrow rites or not!"

Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose and sat down, breathing deep. When he opened his eyes the resemblance of calm was back to him. Tatics applied.

"Díssy…"

"Don't _'__Díssy'_ me, Thorin! Not this time!"

Tatics failed.

"Dís, please. It's not as if Tauriel were Kíli's One. She was not even a dwarrowdam, you know it, her soul could not have come from the same forge as Kíli's."

"Thorin, the lad is not past the pain of losing her. You know it. You can't make him love…"

"Dís, it's not about love, it's about moving on!"

To these words the dwarrowdam stood up again and faced her brother and king (in this order) from the top of her four feet, three inches stature, voice low and dangerous.

"His father died seventy-five years ago and _I_ didn't move on, Thorin. How can we ask this from him?"

"But he _was_ your One, Dís. That's different." He wet his lips, considering how to approach the next subject as she nodded slightly, agreeing partially at least. "Also, the marriage we considered…"

"_We_, who?"

"Me and our neighbor king."

"Humpf."

"The Council is pressing for a marriage, but I didn't let them have their say on who he shall marry!" Thorin defended himself, but Dís' expression was still doubtful. "The Blue Mountains are far, Dís. More than traveling goods, it will be good to have cause for Kíli to travel here more often, and his consort queen's family being our neighbor will be a fuel."

"Humpf. That might be." She conceded. "Although a humanling is hardly the matter to wed a dwarf. Most of them are insipid and frail, from my experience."

"Could _you_ suggest any better match, by the way?"

Dís pondered his last words and the whole situation before answering.

"I'd not make him marry if not out of his own free will, if I had my way. But I concede state matters _matter_, and being a son of Durin bears responsibilities heavier than one's own desires. Yet," And here she used her knife to point at her brother. "It would only be _fair_, logical and comely to ask him first about his wishes, ask his opinion on the matter, – Mahal, it's about who he's to spend the rest of his life along! – maybe point out options and listing advantages and disadvantages of each choice, but never, mind you, _never_ decide for him, making the choice in his stead like he were a dwarfling lacking logical reasoning! He's been a fine ruler at Ered Luin for the last ten years, does it account for nothing?"

Thorin bowed his head, unable to disagree. When the issue arose, when the Council pressed, and when him and Bard envisioned that solution, it all seemed so right. But now…

"I'll talk to the lad. My decision was hasty and didn't take in account his own opinion on the matter. Thank you, Dís."

He rose from the lunch table and bowed to his sister, who eyed him suspiciously.

"Thank me exactly for what, may I ask?"

"For pointing out the obvious, obviously."

With this he left them, both gladly surprised by his change of mind. Maybe, just maybe, a bit of good sense could be infused in that thick head of his.


	14. An Unexpected Meeting

**A/N: One day ahead to compensate the week I posted one day late. I hope this is fair for you, wonderful readers!**

-xxx-xxx-xxx-xxx-

Wind on his face and freedom in his mind. Tripsy's mane would be whipping his face but for a set of braids he plaited during their first long rest. A pity, Kíli deemed, such a fiery mane subdued in tresses when his own feeling was that everyone and every part of everyone should be free from any restraint. Yet, this didn't occur to him all the way from the Blue Mountains, nor along the previous three years he owned that pony. Maybe because he never hasted the mare as much as the last day long, never urged her to a full gallop for such a long time, so her mane never troubled him.

The eaves of Mirkwood were getting closer, more distinct each passing hour. Obviously, no usual equine could gallop for hours with no rest and remain unscathed, so he set a pace interspersing some free gallops with a good steady march and short rests. It worked well enough before, on trips to the villages of Men to negotiate commercial treaties, to the Shire to visit Bilbo when his mother was in the mood and they could find an excuse, and during caravans when he was younger, before the quest. Incredible how his life was simpler before the quest, and a part of him longed for that simplicity. Well, he never got comfortable with pompous things, anyway. Wherever he was going to, court schemes would _not_ be his focus. Then Tripsy could wear her mane free and graze in peace. Probably, all Kíli wanted for himself was to have no braids in his own hair, and all they meant in dwarrow tradition.

A small creek ran from the forest, allowing exuberant bushes to grow in the late summer weather. A nice place to stop, let Tripsy graze, and refresh himself. He could endure for hours yet without pause, but the pony had to be spared. So, he spent a while stretching, another while drinking water and replenishing his canteen, and another while yet relieving himself. He was halfway done with his business when a neigh drew his attention. That was not Tripsy, if he ever heard the mare neigh. No, it was not possible that anyone had followed him from Erebor, no searching party would be so fast in tracking him, he was sure. Road robbers, maybe? Most probably. No way he would let anyone mess with his plan, not so easily…

"Freeze!"

His shout was accompanied by action, bow tense with an arrow pointed to the source of sound, ready to shoot anyone with funny ideas right between the eyes.

"Ah!"

The woman in front of him cried, hands in the air and turning her face away, as if it could prevent her from being shot. A tall brown horse took the chance to rear and bolt, leaving an astounded Kíli behind. Seeing his target for what she was, he lowered the bow and withdrew the arrow, confused.

"Who are you?"

"Look what you did!" Cried the woman as soon as she noticed the menacing arrow wasn't there anymore. "You spooked my horse! Broda! Broda!"

The brunette shouted in the general direction the brown stallion ran, following it with a low toned whistle.

"'ma sorry, madam, it wasn't my inten…"

"Of course it wasn't, who'd be so stupid as to spook someone's horses on purpose in the middle of nowhere? Brodaaa!"

Kíli blinked at the lecture the young woman just gifted him, torn between ashamed and amused. Luckily, a neigh answered her last whistle, and her glare softened. Risking his chances, the dwarf stepped forward with an extended hand, greeting her in the manner of Man.

"Please accept my apologies, milady. I'm at your service." He hesitated to name himself as would be proper, unaware if she was to be trusted with his connections.

Yet, realisation downed on her like the setting sun on her face, surprising him.

"Kíli?" She smiled, rightly connecting the name to its owner. "Really, Kíli, after all this years?"

"Do I know you?" He frowned.

"Of course!" She squealed, excited. "I mean, I expect you remember me? From Lake Town? You stayed at our house, remember?"

"Wait!" For all he tried to forget things that hurt, some things were unforgettable, the sweet between the bitter. "You're one of Bard's daughters? Really?"

"You remember!"

"Sure I remember! You took care of me and my brother when…"

The words died on his lips. When he couldn't care if the Mountain crumbled to dust. When his tears were spent but not his pain. When he lost the will to live.

Noticing the shadow crossing his face, Tilda was fast in acknowledging its source.

"I'm so sorry about your loss, Kíli. I knew lady Tauriel meant so much for you, but everybody kept telling me and Sigrid not to mention her name because it would upset you, and upsetting you would be bad for your healing and…" She heaved a sigh, finishing the phrase without words. Kíli understood what went unsaid.

"Thank you, Tilda."

There wasn't much to say on the subject without touching deep scars, but he was glad her mention of Sigrid helped him to identify which of the sisters the woman was, having not seen her since those days in the Healing House. He was also touched by her remembering Tauriel and acknowledging his mourning, even after all that time, unlike certain members of his own family.

Broda chose the awkward moment to come back, neighing softly on Tilda's shoulder. Tripsy answered in kind, from her own grazing spot several bushes away.

"So, you…"

"Going to Lake Town?"

They chuckled at the simultaneous attempt of conversation. Tilda realized she'd have to find an excuse for being so far from home, alone.

"Erm, well, aye, New Lake Town, actually…"

Kíli noticed her voice was a bit unsteady, and misunderstood.

"Problems? Why did Bard send you alone?"

"Well, erm…"

Now she was stuck. Holding Broda's reins, Tilda bit her lip, looking for a convincing lie. Nothing came to her mind.

"No problem, I understand confidential issues." Kíli came to her aid. Not pressing her meant he could keep to himself if she asked the same of him.

"Oh, aye, that's it, confidential matters." Relieved to have her lie set, she gave in to curiosity. "And you? I didn't know you were back to this side of the Misty Mountains. Every time I ask, they say you're in the Blue Mountains, far from here."

So, now it was his turn to find an alibi. At least he could try to diverge.

"I was. I arrived hither just some days ago, and am on my way already. Things to solve west of the forest, I'm taking the Old Forest Road."

That would send her away from his route, as Lake Town, Old or New, was east of where they stood, and he hoped their encounter could pass unnoticed by the Bardlings. As he had not decided his real destination yet, planting information on a path he was not likely to take could be useful.

"I see…"

Tilda tried to disguise her anxiety by guiding Broda to where she heard Kíli's pony neigh. Her lie about heading to Lake Town would become obvious when they reached a point where she should ride east instead of west, as her intended path was exactly what the dwarf just said was _his_ intended path.

She'd have to think about it some other moment, as Kíli was talking to her again.

"Erm, I don't know how this sounds, please don't take offense…"

"Aye?"

"Well, I don't know how much you're used to travel, but it'll get dark soon. I was considering to camp for the night when you scared me…"

"Wait. _I_ scared _you_?"

"You know what I mean…"

She laughed as an answer to his sheepish smile and Kíli continued.

"So, I'd offer for us to camp together. It might be safer, you know."

She did, and sighed in relief.

"Aye, I'll take your offer, master dwarf, no offense taken. Actually, I was about to ask you the same thing."

It was his turn to laugh.

"So, brilliant minds think alike, people say!"

Tilda accepted Kíli's help to unsaddle Broda, left her stuff beside a tree trunk and started to cleanse a patch of ground from leaves and twigs. Kíli was right, she wasn't very used to camp, but it didn't take a genius to know fire could spread if not isolated. Some stones found its place lining the hearth area, and Sigrid's camp gear held a small pot with water by the time Kíli came back with firewood. He looked at the contraption with curiosity whilst kindling the fire.

"Nice camp kitchen." He mentioned.

"Thank you." She answered, absently, mixing dried rations to the water.

Sigrid had shown her the camp kitchen before she mounted Broda to depart, in the wee hours of morning, and it was really clever. The lower part, above which a pot could be hung up, was a fifteen per fifteen inches square iron structure, connected to a higher part at one side, measuring the same area but with a broiler instead of the empty space that allowed the pot to hang clearly over the fire. On the broiler she could grill meat or vegetables directly on the iron grate, or use a skillet, if she had one. An iron rod crossed over both parts, so she could hang a pot or a kettle over the lower part, directly over the fire, whilst hooking meat to dry and smoke over the higher part. The trickiest and nicest part was that it could be folded by clever articulations, resulting in a small pack easy to store in any saddlebag, or tied outside of it.

"Bread?" He offered her a loaf from his own rations. She accepted with a smile and they ate in the silent contentment of tired limbs.

"So… Is the forest road good to travel?" Tilda asked, trying to sound uninterested.

"It was when I came through it some days ago." Kíli answered, putting another stick in the fire. "It's been more used since the Retake. Seems the evil that lurked in Dol Guldur lingers there no more."

"Wow. That's great." She had completely left Dol Guldur out of her accounts.

Kíli chuckled.

"I assumed you should know, living closer than me."

"Well…" Tilda bit her tongue, angry at herself for being so easily caught. "I just wanted to hear it first hand, you know. They say it's the road of the dwarves."

"Aye, it was made by my people, log ago."

The conversation died again, Tilda wringing the fingers of her mind in search for questions that wouldn't give away she was a runaway, yet grant more information, and Kíli trying to figure out how to ask the woman to keep silence on his whereabouts.

"Almost done." Said Tilda, stirring the soup.

"I'm glad to have someone to share this meal." Remarked the dwarf, handling her a slice of cheese. "Albeit, I must ask you a favour."

"Aye?" She lifted her eyebrows, curious on what the prince might request.

"My… journey… needs secrecy, too. It would be especially helpful if you don't mention it to anyone when you reach New Lake Town, or even when you're back to Dale."

"I won't go…" She bit her tongue and tried again. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Not my business, anyway."

"Thanks."

Tilda scooped some soup to her bowl and handled the ladle to Kíli.

"Erm. I'm really not so well packed for traveling as you. I'm prepared only for dried rations or game."

"Oh, I'm sorry! You don't have a bowl?"

"Nope."

"Maybe you can use the cooking pot? It's hot, though, but we can cool it in the creek…"

"Don't worry, I'm used to deal with hot stuff."

"Certainly not a pot of boiling broth straight from the fire with bare hands?" She dared.

"Close enough!" He laughed, using the ladle to take the pot off the fire by the handle and down on the ground next to him, helping with the side of his gloved hand. "It'll cool enough to handle in a jiffy. Tools get hotter than this in a forge."

"You don't eat tools, you silly!"

He tasted the soup from the tip of the ladle and smiled.

"Now you have a point. Hmm, tasty!"

Tilda giggled, feeling a light heart after several hours of tension.

"So, now we draw straws?"

"What?"

"To choose who's keeping watch first."

"Oh, so." Kíli considered it for a while. "I should keep watch, I'm used to spend nights outside. Patrols, escorts, you know." It would be shameful to allow a woman to keep watch whilst he slept, and he would have none of it. "You sleep."

"But you can't stay the whole night awake. It's unhealthy." She reasoned. "We take shifts."

"No way. What would you do if something happened?"

"I'd wake you."

"You'll be tired tomorrow."

"So will you if you don't sleep."

"I'm used to it."

"Doesn't mean it's healthy."

"Why do you care about healthy?"

"I'm a healer. If you get sick, I'll have more work to do."

"You're selfish!"

"Maybe. But look, if we didn't meet I'd keep awake most of the night to keep watch by myself. If we take shifts I'll sleep half of the night and I'll be better off."

Kíli weighed the offer. He didn't sleep at all the previous night. The night before that, they slept at New Lake Town, and Dwalin made little to no effort to stay discrete next room. To sleep half of the night would be a blessing. Yet…

"No, it wouldn't be honourable."

"Bullshit!"

"What?"

He didn't expect such language, really.

"Excrements of a bovine." She enlightened him, to his blinking surprise. "There's a lot of ways to say the same thing to over sensible ears, you know. Yet, actually, _bullshit_ is really precise to express my opinion on this _honourable_ stuff of yours. On the matter of taking shifts to watch, I mean."

"Oh, so. What a relief. It means you're _allowing_ me to be honourable in other aspects of life, at least."

"Probably."

Kíli shook his head, defeated. The woman could be a pain in the ass to what his good manners prompted him, but she was pragmatic.

"Right, you won. We don't need to draw straws if there's a shift you'd prefer, though."

Tilda almost clapped her hands, delighted, a broad smile adorning her face.

"A reasonable dwarf, at last! I'd prefer to take last shift. I'm a morning person, mostly."

"Really? I'm a night owl, mostly. Maybe for being used to night patrols since I was a wee lad."

He remembered well that time, what felt an age ago. To be on night patrols made him fell so grown up, he didn't figure out that him being allowed such dangerous task meant there were too few adult dwarves to grant safety for the settlement. Which made him curious.

"And what draws you to the morning?"

"Fever."

"Sorry?"

The woman was never tired of surprising him.

"Wee morning is not an unusual time for fever to break. Babies also seem to love to be born before sunrise, just to keep their mothers busy the whole night."

"I'm sure they don't do it on purpose!"

"Let me guess, that's what you did, huh?"

"Humpf. Who was it, Mom or Fíli who told you?"

She laughed outright.

"No, none of them gave you out, silly. I just guessed, that's all."

"I see…" He nodded, figuring out the kind of company he had found for the night. "Well, you go to sleep, then. I'll do the dishes."

"How kind of you. Thanks!"

"Never mention it. You cooked the meal, I do the dishes, it's only fair."

"Not much cooking, really. Just dried rations in a pot of water."

"Not much dishes, really. Just a pot, a bowl and a couple of tableware. We're even."

Tilda smiled and went to get her sleeping roll whilst Kíli washed the gear in the creek. Feeling muscles she didn't even know existed, the woman closed her eyes and slept like a stone, if ever stones slept.


	15. On Conkers and Conquers

**A/N: Helo, dearest readers, thank you for all the support, especially to salwyn77, Celebrilsilweth (yes, their obliviousness is only matched by Thorin's stubborness!) and palysd'Artagnan (they'll have more arguments in the future, but they're both good hearted and ****_may be_**** able to solve their quarrels).**

**=^.^=**

The forges of Erebor were scorching hot, wide and many. The main forge, the one Thorin used Smaug's fire to relit when they took the mountain back, was a good sample of the remaining ones, most of them close by. Yet, when you consider a place half a mile wide, the number of people working in there isn't small. Also, close by can mean a mile or two. And the meandering of tunnels and paths interconnecting them makes it easy to avoid someone if you want, by simply leaving one of them when the one you don't want to meet enters the other side of said forge. Which can be achieved if you know the right people willing to keep you informed. And people sympathetic to Kíli were not in shortage, ever.

This was what Thorin ran over and over again in his mind, flustered by his failure in finding Kíli in just another forge, having spent most of his day and early evening in a fruitless search for his nephew. Enough was enough, and he abandoned his plan of talking to Kíli that very night on behalf of his dinner. He knew he was grumpy enough without skipping meals, and wasn't willing to go _hangry_ on top of everything.

"I imagine Mr. Shallowbogs' face when you beat his sixty-er and turned your own conker into a ninety-niner…"

"It was hilarious, I can assure you, Dís. Old Mrs. Brownlock's eyes grew big as a frying pan when she recorded it in the championship report, and the Mayor had to pay his lost wagers from his own purse because Rosamunda Took was in charge of the Mayor's Treasury instead of her fiançé Odovacar Bolger, who was officially tending a fallen hedge at his family's properties in the South Farthing, but everyone but Rosamunda knew he was in doubt about marrying her for fear of her grand-grandfather the Old Took (that's also my own grandfather, by the way), and she wouldn't let a penny escape the Treasury without all formalities and evidence that it was really accountable to the needs of the Shire and not a personal expense of the Mayor, which it was."

Thorin was dizzy at Bilbo's account of a conkers – conkers, of all sports! – championship, when his sister's reply took the ground from under his boots.

"But did they marry?"

"What?" Bilbo startled, unison to Thorin's silent startling.

"Did Rosamunda marry Odovacar?" Thorin noticed his sister's voice was different from what he was used to. Almost… wishful. "Did he overcome his fears?"

"Well…"

The king under the mountain chose that moment to enter the room, leaving no space for romantic speculations.

"Your son in nowhere to be found at the forges."

"Good evening to you too, dear brother."

Dís replied, nonplussed, eyes on the hobbit who was uncomfortable by the sudden attention Thorin granted them.

"Thorin! What a…"

"Thank you, Bilbo." Thorin interrupted. "I feel the same, but my mind is elsewhere right now. Thank you also for entertaining my sister, if entertainment it was." Bilbo and Dís exchanged looks as if trying to understand what Thorin's talk was about and, no wiser for looking at each other, formulated their own theories. "Dís, where might Kíli be?"

She took a thorough look at her brother and speculated.

"The forges?"

"I searched all of them."

"Sparring arena?"

"Almost spent some stamina there on my way back, but no, Dwalin granted me."

"Kitchens?" She guessed the next logical step.

"According to Bombur, no."

"Could he simply be sleeping?"

"Fíli won't say a word, and I can't possibly break into the lad's quarters."

"Maybe out in the forest?" Suggested Bilbo, to Thorin and Dís' surprise. "Well, he likes shooting his bow, he likes the wild, and out there would be somewhere less people would pester him about… you know."

The hobbit defended himself, thumbs under his suspenders. The dwarven siblings looked at each other like the other just _had_ to had this idea earlier and didn't on purpose.

"It's already dark outside."

"Not the first time he'd slept out in the wild."

"Alone?"

"You know him less than you'd like to admit."

"His father wasn't an elf, I expect you to _know_."

"Patrols around the Blue Mountains weren't a weekend stroll, I expect _you_ to know."

"_You_ let him sleep alone in the wild?"

"_Everybody_ slept in the wild."

"Alone?"

"_Shazara_!" Bilbo's shout silenced them in no time, part because the word commanded them to and part because they didn't expect a hobbit to use a word in Khuzdul. "If Kíli needs a time for himself to ponder the mess you imposed on him, Thorin Oakenshield, _my friend_," And here Bilbo took in a deep breath and looked pointedly at the aforementioned dwarf. "You'll allow him this time. You'll allow him this time and be _glad_ to still have a nephew to complain about your idiocies. Because the alternative would be very, very distressing."

Thorin crossed his arms over his chest, visibly pissed off.

"Well, looks like everyone but me knows better how to deal with my second heir, and what would be better for the future of the kingdom _I am_ responsible for. Considering this, and that I spent a whole day trampling this mountain up and down for nothing, it seems wiser to give up on this mess and let _you_ to deal with it."

Here he uncrossed his arms to point an accusing finger to both Dís and Bilbo, a snarl on his face, and stomped away grabbing a chicken leg in his way out.

"Maybe we should talk to Kíli in the morning." Suggested Bilbo, eyes still on the door Thorin slammed harder than needed in his way out.

"Aye, a whole day of pissing my thick-headed brother off might have softened my son's own thick head." Said Dís, fingers playing with a bead in her beard, absently.

"Agreed. And, by the way, the answer is _yes_."

"What?" She looked back at Bilbo, confused.

"Odovacar and Rosamunda. He overcame his fears, and they married, the following spring."

"Really?"

Dís' eyes shone with joy for the happy ending of the Shire love-story, helping Bilbo to find his own courage and take a step closer to the majestic dwarrowdam.

"Yes. Because for him she was so gorgeous, and strong, and kind…" He reached out a hand, not yet bold enough to touch her hair or beard, knowing how intimate it was for dwarven standards, settling instead for touching the back of her hand with the tips of his fingers, light as a feather. "That it didn't matter if her family was powerful, or if there was a chance her own brother would be against their union, or what anyone would think or say about them. He was courageous enough."

Dís was no fool, nor innocent, and the darkening of Bilbo's eyes spoke volumes of what was said behind his words. His touch on her skin was like fire, so she left the silver bead to itself and interlaced her fingers to his. She was in the mood to burn.

"At least Odovacar didn't have to deal with a dwarrowdam. He would be at risk of finding out she already had had her One in her life."

Bilbo took another small step closer to Dís, holding her hand just a little firmer.

"What would that mean, in effect? Would she despise him? Order that he was thrown down from the ramparts for his boldness?" She snorted at the picture, and he continued. "Hobbits are brave enough to face such things, you know, although I believe Odovacar would suffer if his feelings were utterly rejected."

"Utter rejection could be the case if his dwarven Rosamunda didn't know Odovacar enough to know he's a sincere hobbit and that his friendship is precious to her." Bilbo's eyes lightened up with hope, and she resumed. "Yet, if she already had found her One and became a widow, for instance, he should know there would never be that full passion bards sing about in ballads and lays. Rosamunda would most probably be like a very close friend and companion. Not the intensity of a fire conflagration, but the steady warmth of a well-tended hearth. Do you understand?"

Bilbo breathed deep, understanding more than what she said in spoken words.

"I do." He brought their joined hands closer to his face, eyes set on her sapphire orbs. "And I'm sure that would be more than enough to make a hobbit like him the merrier person in whole Middle-earth." His lips closed the little space left to lay a chaste kiss on her knuckles, the scent of her skin inebriating like wine. "It would be my pleasure…" Bilbo reluctantly moved away from her hand, focusing instead on her adorable face, black soft beard on alabaster skin. "To tell you about the ridiculous courting habits of hobbits."

Dís smiled sheepishly as she retorted, uplifting one eyebrow.

"It will be my pleasure. I went through all ludicrous dwarven habits on courtship, so we can exchange anecdotes on the matter."

"I'll look forward to it."

"As will I, dear Bilbo, as will I." She took a step back, away from him, and bowed dwarven fashion. "I bid you good night, my friend. We might look for my wayward son in the morning."

"Good night, my precious lady. It will be my pleasure."

With these words, Bilbo left a smiling Dís in the royal family dining room, making a small victory dance and punching the air when he was sure none could see him.


	16. New Lake Town in Sight

A/N: Helo, dearst readers, thank you for all your support! T.O.W.G. things may not be so easy for these two, unfortunately...

=^.^=

Next day found them in a better mood than it would if any of them had kept watch on their own individual camp along the night. Tilda made tea and put bread to warm on the grate, Kíli refilled the waterskins and saddled the horses, and soon they had the camp dismounted and packed to go. They worked together as if they hadn't done anything else in the last couple of years, and even Broda neighed in a friendly tone to the dwarf who spooked him the day before.

Half the day had passed with the horses at a good pace, the runaways chatting peacefully about anything and nothing in particular. It felt strange, yet comforting, that they knew each other but a long time had passed without much of a personal contact, so news and information were shared by their people and they could talk about the same topics without much effort on explaining what was it all about.

For instance, dynamics of the economy between Blue Mountains, Grey Havens and Evendim were compared with Erebor, Mirkwood and Dale, the latest set including the Iron Hills and the former considering the Shire; Kíli's accounts of his misfortunes of broken bones, sprains and childhood illnesses made Tilda laugh and prescribe limb immobilization, painkillers and poultices, just like her own accounts of aristocracy blunders made him laugh and offer tips on how to bear a long council meeting without seeming as bored as you really were.

They had won the top of a hill when Kíli noticed something to the East, and frowned.

"Hey, Tilda, for all you've been good company, I fear it's time for us to depart. If you don't head east from this point, you'll miss Lake Town."

"Wha…"

She started to question when her gaze fell upon the glistening town in the distance. There it was, her fake destination, unmistakable. She swallowed dry.

Kíli had already dismounted, tying Tripsy with a length of rope to a sturdy bush. The he rummaged his packs for some bread and a spiced salami. Tilda was still frozen on the spot.

"Come on, let us share a meal before we depart. Bilbo would call it _elevensies_. Did you know halflings have up to seven meals a day?" He turned to the statue on the horse. "Tilda? Are you all right?"

The woman seemed to come out of a trance at the sound of her name. Perturbed eyes darted from the town to the dwarf and back, settling then on her own hands on the reins. Slowly, she dismounted seeming more tired than the morning should grant.

"Aye. I mean, no."

She watched Kíli tie her horse to the same bush in silence, gathering up her courage. Too fast was he ready, looking at her, torn between curious and worried.

"Is it something you want to talk about? I have two ears to hear and one mouth to shut up. And I can keep my mouth stubbornly shut, you know."

"Kíli, I, ah… I'm not heading to Lake Town. Not at all."

He nodded at her statement, slowly. Things began to click in place.

"I see…"

She fidgeted with the clasp of her cloak, in only to look somewhere else than his piercing eyes.

"I didn't want to lie to you, but they… they _cannot_ know…"

Her sobs came unwished by her and unexpected by him, who took some seconds to understand what was happening and take action.

"Hush, hush, it's all right… it's all right…"

He took a step closer and reached a thumb to her weeping face, trying to show empathy but also respect to her personal space. It was all it took for her to throw herself in his embrace and cry freely on his shoulder.

"Hush, calm down, calm down, it's all right…"

"No, it's not, Kíli, it's not…"

He should have known better, right from the start. A woman riding alone; actually, a princess without escort; evasiveness on her destination and reasons; a route that was definitely _not_ the fastest or shortest one from Dale to Lake Town; and then…

"You intend to travel far, don't you?"

"Ho… how do you know?" She asked between sobs.

"Your stuff. Dried rations endure long but ain't as tasty as fresh food, so people tend to leave them for longer travels, not a two days journey. Even taking the long route you took, you'd reach Lake Town today, certainly. And your camp kitchen. It's very nice, but a bit cumbersome if someone's to ride just a couple of days."

His deep voice reasoning close to her ear helped Tilda to calm down, and she was able to inhale deep instead of just crying. Leather, pipe-weed and warmth. It was comforting.

"You're right. I intend to go far. Very far."

"How far? If I may be so bold to ask, of course."

"Of course you can. I mean, you're just asking, you're not judging me. Of course you can."

By now she was able to lift her head from his shoulder and wipe her eyes with a hand. Kíli produced a handkerchief from nowhere.

"Here. Take it."

"Wha… Thank you."

She wiped her face clean, thankful. A puffy face was bad enough even without snot all over it.

"Bilbo made such a fuss over a forgotten handkerchief once that I got used to have one handy ever since."

Tilda smiled at the mention of the Halfling. He had been the nicest person when the Company stayed at her house, even if compared to Dori, who insisted on serving tea for everyone for the short time they stayed, and Bombur, who took over the kitchen. Even Bofur had been too worried to be the good humoured fellow she came to know in the years after the Retaking. Kíli himself had been in too much pain for her to register if he was nice or not, only getting to know his true self after the Battle, and then he was again in pain, this time both physical and emotional. She tucked the handkerchief in her pocket.

"Thank you. I… I'll wash it in the next creek we find, if you allow me."

"That's fine, don't worry." He touched her cheek with two fingers, as if making sure it was dry. "Wanna talk?"

She looked down, perturbed.

"You don't have to, though. But if I know where you're going to, I may be able to help. I've travelled more than you, I believe."

"Aye. Aye, I'll talk to you. What sits heavy in my chest might get lighter if aired out."

He simply took her hand and led her to what little shadow the bushes could offer at the almost mid-day time. Tilda sat down, obediently, gathering her thoughts. Kíli went to fetch their waterskins and the forgotten bread and salami. The woman had her eyes lost in the distant New Lake Town when he came back and sat down beside her.

"Bread?"

He offered a loaf and she took it with a nod of thanks. Tilda ate it bit by bit, in silence, and Kíli let her to her thoughts whilst cutting the salami in thin slices. Pressure wouldn't do any good, he deemed.

His patience was rewarded at last.

"Do you… Does your people make marriage arrangements?" She asked, voice slow and low. "Make persons wed to tie alliances or such?"

He understood her predicament instantly and lifted his head from the salami task.

"Sometimes. Sometimes they are stupid enough to demand it, and sometimes people are stupid enough to agree. Only ever heard of it happening in royalty, and even so, seldom. But a dwarrowdam is _never_ forced to marry."

Tilda nodded, agreeing with the mention of stupidity and wishing to be a dwarrowdam just for once. She noticed how his gaze fell to his own hands playing with the knife.

"I don't know how much it is usual amongst my people. All I know is that I… I…"

Kíli predicted more tears coming and acted on damage reduction.

"That you're not of the stupid kind?"

"Exactly!" She cried. "I can't, I won't, I'll never…"

"Shh, calm down, calm down… You're away from him now. Who is the crap? Say a name and I'll skin him alive for touching you without your consent."

"No, it's not like that… I didn't marry. Not yet. I'll never. Not to him. I won't!"

Resoluteness was back to her voice and the dwarf smiled, encouraging her brave spirit.

"Good! Now, what's your plan, if you're not going to Lake Town?"

He could see some doubt in her face, and she silenced for some minutes, fidgeting with her clasp. Tilda weighed her options. To travel alone was her original plan, but she didn't count on finding anyone in the wild. To be able to sleep with someone on watch had granted her rest with peace of mind, which would be impossible if alone. Kíli was perfectly respectful, but also fun to talk to, always a prank he perpetrated with his brother on the tip of his tongue to send away the boredom of riding for hours long. On top, he said he was going to cross the forest…

"How much can I trust you to keep my destination confidential?"

Kíli considered her question for a whole tenth of a second.

"Completely. As I said, I have two ears to hear and one mouth to keep shut. Whomever tried to impose marriage on you deserves only my wrath, not any information on you. Moreover, I don't intend to return to Erebor anytime soon. Or late, by the way. I'm gone for good."

Her relief got mixed up with curiosity.

"Why?"

"Your people is not the only one stupid enough to try to impose on others personal life."

"Oh?"

"Thorin conditioned my rising to king under the Blue Mountains to giving up Tauriel's memory and taking a wife. I'll do neither."

"Nor should you! You… she… she loved you to her death, how could you simply…"

Tilda was angry enough to be out of words. Which, coming from someone who never allowed a provocation to stay unanswered, was quite a lot.

"Exactly. I can't, and I won't. So if my non-returning to lands of mutual acquaintance is enough to earn your trust, you can trust me."

The woman bit her lower lip, considering things under the new light Kíli's revelation kindled. It was not hard to decide.

"I'll trust you. I'll trust you and also ask for your help. You said you'll take the Old Forest Road…"

"That might be." He interrupted. "I have no destination in mind, to tell you the truth."

"Oh. Sorry, I presumed…"

"All right, it was what I told you, actually. Anyway, how can I help you if I take the Forest Road?"

"I intend to cross the forest. Find a place to live amongst the woodsmen who live between the forest and he river. They say they're a rude people, but it's easy to dub as rude a people who lives far away and you don't really know." She smiled, sheepish. "Just as we dubbed dwarves as greedy and stubborn, for instance, when your people lived far away from us."

The example picked up his curiosity and he asked, with a smirk.

"Really? And my people living close to yours has changed your opinion? We creaturs of Mahal ain't greedy and stubborn anymore?"

"Of course it changed. Now I know dwarves are not _that_ greedy as people deemed."

"And stubborn?"

"With a passion!"

They laughed, their mood getting better by the minute. Kíli shook his head at her sincerity and good humour and decided.

"I'll cross the forest with you. As I said, I have no destination in mind, as long as my path leads me away from Erebor."

Tilda smiled back, thankful.

"So, we have a deal, then."

"I think so." Then he added, face serious. "On one condition."

"What condition?" Inquired the woman, suddenly worried on what the dwarf would demand.

"First watch is mine."

"Dealt!"


	17. Time to Go

**A/N: Happy 4th July, dear readers! Here goes something from Erebor and Mirkwood to spend the holliday.  
Talking about hollidays, I'm about to take a 3 week vacation and I'll probably be out of reach of any connection, so, I'm not sure I'll be able to post anything before August. Until then, good reads!  
Celebrilsilweth: That's the great adavantage of writing in third person, we can see the characters and facepalm at their silliness!  
pallysd'Artagnan: Dwarves are very protective, Kíli is no exception. It will take a lot of trouble until they get to know the truth!  
T.O.W.G: Unfortunatley they don't have data enough to find out who their intended should be...  
**

=^.^=

It was not a pleasure. At all. Bilbo accompanied Dís' attempts to wake Kíli, or make him answer his bedchamber door at least, because it was impossible to a living dwarf not to hear Dís' shouts and threats – and shouted threats, by the way – unless they were comatose, which was out of question. Probably. Even so, the hobbit decided he would rather be dead than comatose in the case Dís shouted at him like that. Of course, such a heinous punishment would only be due if he hid from his mom in his bedchamber for two days long, and a respectable gentlehobbit would never do such thing in sane mind. Which made Bilbo stop and consider a couple of facts:

First, Kíli was _not_ a hobbit.

Second, he himself _would_ feign being comatose if his mother shouted like that.

Third, Kíli's mind was probably _not_ sane.

All things considered, all the efforts to wake the lad up, all Dís tried to make him open the door, from menaces to cajoling, all was vain. Yet, Fíli kept his peace as if nothing were happening, slouching on the sofa with a book in his hands, a slight dithering of his moustache braids the only sign he was alive at all. Like a gargoyle watching over the turrets of a temple, waiting. Waiting for what? An Armageddon that would never come, most probably. But watch had to be kept, anyway. Not for the sake of the (not)upcoming Armageddon, but for the ones who awaited for it.

Reaching such conclusion was what made Bilbo take action at last, when the mason crew was ready to put the poor door down by sheer force.

"Stop. The lad is not there."

"What?"

"But…"

"Just stop, can't you see?"

The dwarves called to open the door at any cost eyed him as if he were mad. Well, _mad Baggins_ had been his nickname in the Shire for the last ten years, why don't put it to good use?

"How can you tell?" Was Dís' sensible question, fists at her hips and a pout worthy a whole spring in Rivendell.

"Release the masons. I'll explain, then."

The dwarrowdam looked discontent, but released the workers anyway. To counter the favourite of the King Under the Mountain could count as unwise even for the Princess Under the Mountain, and she knew it.

Which didn't prevent her from tapping the floor with an angry foot as soon as the masons left.

"So?"

Bilbo studied her for a minute, weighing how to break the news without incurring in the formidable lady's wrath.

"It's not your fault, I hope you know."

Dís' sapphire eyes softened just enough for the hobbit to know he hit the target. Bilbo took the chance and stepped forward, knowing that to look upwards to someone of dwarf height made his eyes take a puppy-like configuration that helped him to touch sensible hearts, even if said sensible hearts were buried underneath, well, tons of pride and stubbornness and low self-esteem hidden under arrogance. Well, several decades of exile explained much of it – the low self-esteem part, specially – but Bilbo knew sensible hearts were there for whom had the courage to reach for them. That he learned on the Carrok, and never forgot.

"What… What did I miss, Bilbo? When have I been less than I should be for him?"

Her voice was soft, not an ounce of how she shouted while banging at her son's bedchamber door.

"Nothing. Never. As I said, it's not your fault. Tho…"

"Thorin did it. He forced Kíli into agreeing to …"

"No, Amad, not even Thorin." Fíli had seemingly awoken form his pseudo-reading state and came to them, offering a supportive hand to their hobbit. Most of what he would say was to enlighten Bilbo, anyway. "I was angry at him, too, at first. But he tried. For what Mister Balin says, Uncle put it off with the Council for years. Then they forced it on him, threatening to withhold support like they did before the Retake, and, as Uncle buried the Arkenstone in the deepest mine shaft as a sign of redemption of the Gold Sickness, some clans think they can force their hand. I just don't know why I was never present at such meetings, if it would matter to me for a longer time than to any other lord of the Seven Kingdoms, being the crown prince of the Longbeards. Not that I care about it, anyway, or, cared, until Uncle broke the news of his _retirement_. I still don't know what to make out of it."

"Not one hundred yet." Dís murmured, almost to herself.

"What?" Asked Bilbo, close enough to hear her whisper.

She looked back at him, although her eyes were distant.

"Fíli is not one hundred years old yet. This means he's not allowed to take part in decisions that concern the well-being of our people for longer than a century. Even if he'll be High King of the Seven Clans in less than a moon, because it was decided by Thorin and agreed by the Council, he's not one hundred years old yet, so the old traditions command he's not a full-fledged decision maker, not for his own life decisions, nor for ones who will be under his hand. When Thorin puts the crown on his head, yes, but not yet."

" What?"

"Amad…What the…?"

It was Fíli's turn to face Dís' and seek for explanation and understanding at the same time. The dwarrowdam looked at her firstborn with a proud smile, and then turned to the hobbit at their side.

"I've told you some of this during our afternoon teas in the Shire, my dear Halfling friend. I just don't know if you understood what was being said underneath."

Bilbo _then_, before his unexpected journey, would have dropped his porcelain tea cup on the stone floor, but Bilbo _now_, ten years after, just gripped his hands tighter. Sometime later he'd find out Dís' hands were caught between his fingers, but that was another problem. She looked at her firstborn, a sad smile on her face.

"You know I was eighty-four when I knew your father. Just some years older than you were when the stupid quest almost took you, your brother _and_ my brother away, thanks Mahal and all the Valar the Enemy didn't accomplish it. Well, back to our story. If I were any peasant, any commoner, it would be no problem, but I _am_ of Durin's line. So, every lord and lady and rich merchant was sure to have an opinion on my life."

"But nobody would make you forsake your One!" Protested Fíli, visibly angry at the mere idea. "It would be… unthinkable, to say the least."

"And who's to say who is or isn't the One of another? You know this is a knowledge reserved only for the very souls who were forged in the same fire. Who's to say you are Nina's One but she herself, and vice-versa?"

Fíli slowly nodded, agreeing. To know the One match to a soul was a mystery not even the priests dared to explain, being far too personal, unique, and true. The realization that Nina was his One had been overwhelming, an epiphany, like finding the final piece of a puzzle he wasn't even aware was missing. And it was not even love at first sight.

Bilbo knew about the One thing amongst dwarrow, and kind of understood the underlying concept, albeit it was not considered a real thing in hobbit culture. Of course there were couples who claimed to be soul-mates, but it was exception, not rule. He himself considered it mostly romantic babbling, believing love was something built on mutual respect and admiration, cemented with tons of friendship.

Dís took in Fíli's comprehension of the matter and continued, for both his and the hobbit's enlightening.

"The point is, Thorin was ninety-eight by then. Even if he was the surrogate ruler our people for three years already, after your grand-adad Thrain had gone wandering, he wasn't allowed, by tradition, to speak for me and your father. We had to wait until he was one-hundred to start official courtship, or ten years of surrogate ruling so as to be considered the lawful ruler, whatever came first. I'm glad it was his one-hundredth."

Fíli was flabbergasted to say the least. He heard some funny stories about how his parents gave a damn on every and any tradition to be together. Some stories were not really funny, like the time the Council of Lords almost got him decapitated for breaking into Thorin's house to, supposedly, kidnap Dís, until it was clarified the house was on fire and his father actually broke in to save her from the flames.

Yet, there was something more bothering his thoughts.

"Why didn't anybody tell me about this one hundred idiocy?"

The answer was as obvious as ridiculous, and Dís gave it with a defeated sigh.

"Because you're not one hundred yet."

"This… this is nonsense!"

"This is _tradition_."

"Just because something is _tradition_ doesn't imply it is right, or the best thing! This is stupid!"

"It's tradition that keeps our people alive and striving!"

"Is it? Is it?" Fíli pointed to the locked door where his brother was _not_ behind. "Is my brother alive and striving right now? What did _tradition_ do but to make him go away?"

"How can you be so sure he went away?" Dís was more than upset now. "Fíli, did you help him out of Erebor?"

"No." The blond dwarf conceded with a bitter laugh, yet adding his point. "But I'd rather had, if I had the chance. That he's gone away without telling me is sign enough that things are not well with him."

"This is exactly my feeling." Bilbo offered, contrite. "If this is anyone's fault, it is mine. Dwalin told me about a wedding arrangement, but he made me promise not to mention it to Kíli and try to talk it out from Thorin's head before he announced it. I just didn't count on not having the time to do so. I… I'm sorry I didn't do it sooner, Dís."

The dwarrowdam looked at the hobbit, unable to grab all that was said in his few phrases. The hands that grasped hers so strongly just minutes before were limp at his sides, not even fingering the rim of his vest pocket in his usual nervous mannerism. All she saw was a defeated being who blamed himself for what was beyond his power. Just one question remained, albeit she suspected the answer.

"Why… Why didn't you tell Kíli along the journey? It takes months on the road from the Shire hither, why didn't you…?"

He knew. He knew it would come to this, and that it would be hard to explain. He had dwelt on this same question many sleepless nights on the road, many a day he rode in silence watching the archer and asking himself why he didn't just blurt out what weighed in his heart. Dís sapphire eyes didn't help him to think straight, though, and reminded him just _why_ he kept his silence.

"I couldn't. I… I couldn't break Thorin's trust in me. He sent Dwalin to fetch me, to fetch us, and confided in Dwalin and in me that no word would be said." He spread his hands out, trying to illustrate the dimension of what he said and felt. "I know, I know all this arrangement stuff is stupid, I'm of the same opinion as you both, none should mess with the lad's choices of the heart, but I have… I have…"

"Honor." The three looked at where the deep baritone voice came, to see Thorin framed by the door-post. "Not that I know why I deserve it directed at me, but… I'm glad to have it."

"Did you find him?"

Dís asked, anguished, but understanding in a jiffy what happened. Not even the weight of a surprise wedding would break Bilbo's loyalty to Thorin. In a way, it made her feel better.

"Not yet." He stepped into the apartment Fíli and Kíli shared. "But I have some information, at least. He asked for his pony, as well as his traveling gear and weapons, two nights ago. For once the stable's laziness in sending travellers' things to its due place did us good, as now we know his real intentions. I'm leaving in one hour with a searching party. Anyone willing is welcome to join me, even if I take full responsibility for his… escapade."

Thorin looked down when his last words left his mouth, regret and shame obvious in the stance of the proud king. But then he was more than a king – he was sibling, he was uncle, he was brother-in-arms. When he looked up again and stared at _his_ _burglar_, his eyes had a strange sheen, determination the least attribute to it. His voice could have been of command, as the leader Bilbo came to know so many years before, but it was more. It was confidence. It was regret… and hope.

"Will you follow me, Bilbo Baggins… one last time?"

The hobbit pursed his lips to keep himself of punching his regal friend in the face, but answered nonetheless.

"One _last_ time? Are you kidding me? One _more_ time, most probably. Of an unnumbered set of times, for sure. And if I understand you _asking_ me as considering the mere probability that I would _not_ go, then I must be very angry at you, Thorin Oakenshield. Not as angry as Kíli surely is, but angry anyway. Let me get Sting and I'm ready."

-xxx-

In the depths of Mirkwood, in a palace of stone yet carved to resemble the entwining of tree boughs, a heated discussion took part.

"We can't just ignore their invitation. It would be undiplomatic."

"Undiplomatic, to say the least, was to invite us for a celebration when all we have to recall from that occasion was death and mourning. _Gross_ is a better word. Insensitive. Uncouth. Tart."

"Father, we had this discussion before and…"

"Flinty. Hard-hearted. Rude. Untaught."

"They had losses too! Far more than we had!"

"It was the retake of _their_ mountain of rubbish. To involve us in their mess was ungracious. Churlish. Gruff. Unaffable."

"This celebration doesn't mean only feasting and merrymaking. It is also tribute to the fallen in battle."

"Their petty lifespan means they'd fall sooner rather than later. If to battle, sickness or old age, is of little importance. On the other hand, _our people_ who fell that day would have yet long centuries of a life full of purpose. They can't even grasp the concept of it in their little and primitive minds."

"Being mortals doesn't make them insensible to the hurt of losing a beloved one, father. I've seen their pain and shared in it."

Only then Thranduil conceded to look Legolas in the eye, one eyebrow uplifted in accusation.

"Don't remind me of what you _shared_ with them. Or, as a matter of fact, _who_."

"You'll never learn, will you?" Now it was Legolas' turn to accuse, anger reverberating in his voice and soul. "You dub them as discourteous for not taking into account our own losses, yet you disrespect these same losses. Tauriel…"

"Tauriel was a rebel who abandoned our realm, acting against my orders, and was banished for it. Yet, you still take her side against my best judgement, even after being disowned and accepted back again. You fill me with disgust, _my_ son."

"So be it then, my_ father_." The last word the elven prince uttered tasted bitter in his mouth. "My presence won't be a disgust to your all-wise self anymore. If ten years are not enough for you to let go a stupid grudge on someone who is all kindness and good will, I'll pay my own respects to her myself. But I should know, shouldn't I?" He asked rhetorically from over his shoulder as he left the throne room. "Hundred and seventy weren't enough for you to let go a couple of pebbles…"

"Pebbles? As pure as the gems of Lasgalen! Mine by right! Go, go then, run to your rough and grotesque friends! It only shows how much you're alike them, you ill-mannered prat. Crass. Loutish. Uncivil. Coarse-grained."

Legolas shrugged on his way out, having heard that kind of litany times enough.

"Ragged. Indelicate. Clodish. Unparliamentary. Lumpish. Displeasing…"


	18. Shadows and Flames

Helo, dearest readers, here we are again after weeks of traveling and visiting relatives I didn't see in decades. It was awesome, to say the least! Thank you for waiting.  
The good news is that I had a notebook and did some writing, so some chapters ahead of this one are granted.  
R&R, I miss you!

=^.^=

The remaining of the day was spent riding at a good pace, putting as much distance between them and New Lake Town as possible. Short gallops allowed Broda to spend his stamina, yet the rohirrim stallion cut them shorter than needed to wait for Kíli's pony, who followed him restless and proud. Stretches of slower pace granted them all time to rest while still traveling, and the dwarf and the woman used that time to talk, sharing stories from those ten years apart.

"Da has always been a leader of sorts, even if he didn't pursue it. That's why the former major didn't like him. He always questioned things and fought for what was right, so people sought him to help with disputes and quarrels with the major. He never told us about our forefathers having being kings of Dale! We only found out when you party came and was brought before the major for your invasion of the town's armoury."

"It was entirely my fault. That we were caught in the armoury, I mean, not that your father never said anything."

Tilda giggled.

"I imagined as much, Kíli!"

"I shouldn't have gone to the… invasion, as you put it. My leg was a mess and my stubbornness almost cost us the quest."

"You were trying to do your best. I think we all do stupid things when trying to impress our parents, or, in your case, your uncle."

"Thank you for the compliment! It's been a while since I was called stupid last time…"

"No! It's not like…" She tried to apologize.

"I know, I know, I'm just teasing. It was stupid enough, I must reckon."

"Right!" She laughed. "I threw a plate to that orc before Sigrid pulled me under the table, as if it would do anything but enrage it. It was more than stupid, I think."

"No, no way, Tilda! It was… brave. Very brave, indeed."

"Do you think so?" She was dubious about his statement. "I was just a brat acting out of fear, and impulse. I don't see any bravery in it."

"No?" He questioned, looking at her with more attention. "Fear freezes people, just like a rabbit or a deer freeze at the sight of a predator. That orc was definitely a predator. Even if you and your sister were not its primary target, you would be a collateral it would enjoy to kill, in the best case scenario. You didn't freeze. You reacted. Of course you were afraid, but fear wasn't your main drive. It was _courage_."

The woman silenced after what he said, lost for a while in what it could mean. She spent the last several years hearing now and then that it was a stupid thing she did, throwing a plate at an orc, being even used as example of what should not be done in certain circumstances. Like in her training as a healer: if someone is bleeding, don't throw a plate at an orc, just stanch the haemorrhage.

"I… I don't know if it was really courage. People tend to say it was just stupid. But then…" Tilda looked at the dwarf riding beside her, someone she acknowledged as a weathered warrior and, as such, his opinion was important to her. "Do you really believe it was courage?"

Kíli considered her for more than she questioned. What little he knew of her from ten years before, mostly during his long recovery from the battle, and now, in the not-quite one day long of talking, sharing stories of their lives. Strange, he deemed, it was like they'd never been apart, yet this adult Tilda was so much more than he would expect any person to be. She was the same spirited being he knew then, now seasoned with experience and persistence in pursuing her goals. She had told him how her training as a healer had been, starting in the aftermath form the battle even if only because more experienced hands were tending to more serious wounds. But after that the adults were driven to the rebuilding of Dale and Erebor, yet diseases and minor accidents continued to happen as always, and not so many hands were willing to help Óin amongst the dwarves and Hilda amongst Men. So Tilda helped them both, learning the hard way, following her heart.

"Tilda, do you know what the word _courage_ means?"

"To be brave?" She tried. "To be daring, audacious? Nothing of this seems to apply to me, really."

"_I'm not daring_, says the woman who fled from a forced marriage in the middle of the night galloping a rohirrim stallion to cross Mirkwood alone." Kíli shook his head, incredulous, and Tilda laughed at his description of her recent affairs. He waited until she recovered from the laughing fit to resume. "Tilda, _courage_ means… to act with your heart. If _you_ ain't someone who follows your heart, I don't know who else could wear this title."

"I… Thank you."

She dropped her gaze at the compliment, embarrassed. Acting according to her heart had led her to multiple troubles all life long, and now having Kíli praise exactly this pattern of action was confusing, to say the least.

On his side of the following silence, Kíli considered his last words, and found himself a liar. He knew to whom else he could bestow the title of _courageous_ without a blink of his eyes, but the memory hurt too much. If Tauriel didn't act with her heart that day, at Ravenhill, she would be alive, and he would not be tormented by guilt.

-xxx-

Making camp was fast and easy, both knowing what the other was expected to do to settle for the night. Unsaddling the horses, preparing the terrain, collecting firewood, roasting a rabbit Kíli managed to hunt whilst riding, brewing some tea to break the chill of the night… No fight about who would take first watch this time. Tilda dived into her sleeping roll and soon sleep claimed her.

Kíli stuffed his pipe and lightened it, the sweet smell of Longbottom leaf spreading around their little camp. The stars of the last summer nights shone bright, reminding him once more of the elf who told him with great excitement about how the stars were memory, pure and precious. They would always be memory to him, pure and precious memory of his One. It didn't matter if they didn't have time to follow courting protocols and proper wedding rites. They said their vows to each other in the short moments of break Legolas granted them, between Tauriel being stabbed and her death, whilst the elf prince fought the orc Bolg. Regardless of those few and ragged words, albeit true, he knew she was his One since Mirkwood, even if she didn't have a clue. He knew, his heart knew, and this knowledge was enough for him to claim Tauriel's love, the light of his fire, with all of his soul. That knowledge was also what kept him going on despite her absence, because no good was ever achieved by those who sought death before their due time. To fall in battle was one thing, to fall defending his people, or any defenceless person, was deemed right in the beliefs of his people; yet, none should shatter what was forged by Mahal, none had the right to melt his own stone and steel. It was the only thing that kept him from pursuing his own end.

The embers of his pipe were long dead, sparks of their little fire competing with some late fireflies, when he noticed Tilda tossing in her sleeping roll. Before Kíli decided if it was a good idea to wake her, she settled down again, mumbling something incomprehensible. He kept observing her, just in case – he knew what a nightmare could do, and would help her out of it if he could.

Moments later she sat up with a heart-freezing scream.

-xxx-

_It was night in Lake Town and Tilda was worried. Sigrid was away in Gondor and Bain was helping Bard to kill a dragon. She was alone in their little house and she couldn't find her ragdoll. Could it be lost, tucked inside a pocket of the clothes they lent to the dwarves? She sought in all places she used to forget the doll, but all she could find were dried herbs. The door creaked as someone opened it and stepped inside._

_"__Time to go, Tilda. You're mine now."_

_"__No!" She shouted at the stranger. "I'm not! Da would never…"_

_"__But he did." The old man interrupted her, silhouetted against the door frame, dragon fire behind him obscuring his features. He stepped inside the house, aided by a heavy staff. "I'm the only one who can protect Dale from the orcs. He sold you for weapons."_

_"__It can't be true…" She stepped back, away from the old man, disgusted at his presence. Then something, or, better saying, someone on the table caught her attention and she felt relieved at once, strong enough to challenge the old man. "You are wrong. The dwarves are with us. We are safe. I am safe."_

_Even with her bold words, Tilda stepped back once more, just enough to touch the table. Fast as a snake, she took a plate and threw it at the man, who disappeared with a flash of dragon fire. Relieved, she turned to the dwarf on the table, assessing his wound. The leg was swollen, and he shivered in fever. She cleansed his forehead with a damp cloth and tried to assure him._

_"__The elf healer is coming. Hold on!"_

_Kíli grabbed her hand with his trembling one and looked at her as if wanting to say something. She waited, but he said nothing more._

_"__Kíli?"_

_Apprehension filled her healer senses and she moved closer to look into his eyes. They were glazed, and the hand in hers trembled no more. Reality hit her. Kíli was dead. Kíli was dead. Tilda cried with all her soul._

_"__No! No! Not Kíli, no! __No!"_

-xxx-

"Tilda. Tilda. Calm down. It's all right… It's all right…"

Tilda trembled in his arms, tears flowing free on her cheeks. One of Kíli's hands drew soothing circles on her back, whilst the other carded her hair, like his mother did to him when he was a wee dwarfling. He missed it, because nightmares were his dutiful companions since the Battle of Five, but he was no dwarfling anymore and grown-up dwarves didn't have nightmares, for all he knew, nor did they seek for comfort when afraid of the dark. He knew other races had bad dreams even as adults, and comforting Tilda was not a problem for him. After all, she was a child not that long ago.

His deep and calming voice finally made effect, and her breathing became lass ragged. Soon the woman was not trembling anymore, and wiped her eyes and face with the sleeve of her gown, trying to gather some resemblance of normalcy.

"Do you feel better?" Kíli wiped a strand of hair from her blue eyes. "How can I help you?"

"I… I'm better now, thank you." She rested her forehead on his shoulder, taking deep breaths to even the last of her discomfort. "I… I had a very bad dream, that's all."

"It is all right now, Tilda. I… I just wish I could make you feel better."

And he really meant it. It was not only because little Tilda eased his recovery days while he healed from the wounds the Battle of Five granted him. It was because this grown up Tilda he got to know was a precious being, in manners he was not quite able to explain yet.

"Thank you, Kíli. You do. You really do."

"What happened?"

He simply quoted what Dís used to ask him when he was distressed, knowing how much it helped him to vent out what he felt. If it would work with nightmares, was yet to be seen.

But it did.

"I… I dreamed of the… the man I was supposed to marry. It was not… not quite pleasant."

To talk about the obscure figure that appeared in that doorframe was one thing; to tell Kíli she screamed in her nightmare when she saw him dead was completely another one, and he wouldn't know about it, not form her lips at least.

Kíli considered what she said, and what it was like to wake up to his own nightmares, and tightened his embrace.

"You're safe now. He… he won't find you, I promise."

Tilda felt her body melt into his at those words, feeling beyond reason that she was secure and safe in his arms. Nothing in her life prior to fleeing Dale ever gave her any promise, any sureness of anything. Even her Da becoming king didn't mean any certainty, only that their challenges would be different. Now, for once, someone promised her she would be safe.

As a reward, Tilda felt he deserved some explanation, or at least some description of what thunderstorm her dream unleashed on her.

"I couldn't see his face. I was at home in Lake Town, where… you know, our little house." She tried to explain, waving her hands to describe the small dwelling. "He… he demanded me to follow him… he… he said I was his, that Da sold me to him… I…"

Tilda swallowed her anguish, and Kíli tried to comfort her again.

"Hush, calm down…"

She felt she owed him some explanation.

"I don't know who he is, aye? But I know he is so old he could barely reach Dale. I can't – I _can't!_ \- marry him. I can't…"

Kíli frowned at the dubious description of the offending man.

"Maybe you should have tried to know who he is. Some races of Man are long lived, like the Dúnedain."

"But why would Da wish for an allegiance with the Dúnedain? They're such a forlorn people, wandering all of Arnor, with no place to rest…" Kíli frowned, but she took no notice, face buried in his chest. "I know not having a town to call a homeland doesn't mean a people isn't reliable and trustworthy, you know, most people of Lake Town were descendants from old Dale, but… it just doesn't make sense. The Dúnedain wouldn't seek for an alliance with Dale, it wouldn't bring them any advantage, considering how sparse and far apart are their dealings in Rhovanion."

Tilda shook her head and Kíli thought about the long years of wandering of his people and knew that aye, it was true, no sensible people would be eager to seek allegiance with Durin's people during their wandering days. Why would Dale seek allegiance with the Dúnedain or any other wandering people?

"So, all you know is that he is far older…"

"He is _almost ninety_!"

"Almost ninety and barely reached Dale. Not information enough to find out who the guy might be, I'd wager."

"I don't want to know who he might be. I just want to be away from him."

Kíli pondered about the whoever dwarrowdam could be the one Thorin and his thrice-damned Council chose for him to marry. He, too, wasn't keen to know who his pseudo-intended could be.

"Sounds like we both are under a similar curse. I simply don't want anyone beside me after I lost Tauriel, whom I loved, and you don't want to be beside someone you don't know beforehand and didn't choose."

Tilda fidgeted the rim of her dress, downcast eyes.

"It is not simply someone I didn't chose, Kíli. It is a _very old man_ I didn't choose, it's someone who could be my great-grandfather, and it just doesn't…" She blinked, and wiped a stubborn tear from her cheek. "It is not as if I am a stupid romantic that fancies a charming prince, I know my sister married to reinforce alliances between Dale and Rohan, but her husband in only ten years older than Sigrid, they… they have things in common to talk about; he is younger than Da, at least. What would my life be, with someone who reached old age with… without even having had a wife once? Doesn't it sound strange? If he never got a wife there must be something very wrong with that man. What if he hates women and this marriage is just… just to produce an heir?" Tilda's voice lowered to a bare whisper at the idea that scared her. "Would he… would he take me with uncaring hands and… _do things_… to make an heir… even if I didn't want to? Would he… would he force me and…"

Her hands hid her sobbing face and Kíli couldn't help but to embrace her again and let her tears wash freely on his shoulder. He caressed Tilda's hair, trying to find self-control not to go back to Dale and punch Bard in the face for subjecting his daughter to such an ordeal. No dwarf would ever decide on a maiden's choice, and it included the choice to say _no_.

"Tilda, I… I hope we'll never see the Lonely Mountain again after we escape from its sight, but… but if ever you are forced to marry this man, or any other, this I promise you: if your husband ever forces you to do anything – and I mean _anything_ – apart from what you're willing to do, I, Kíli son of Dís, will personally kill this man. Come to me with a single bruise and he'll find his doom at my hands. This I promise by Durin's beard, and may Mahal's anvil shatter before this promise is broken."


	19. Bad News

**Helo, beautiful readers, time for Thorin and his searching party to meet Bard!**

=^.^=

The wind playing with her braids was enthralling to say the least. She missed it, Dís had to concede. Unfortunately, the rare occasions she had to feel the wind in her tresses were such as these – cases of crisis – or her escapades to the Shire. Cases of crisis were becoming rarer by the year, which she was thankful. Yet, escapades to the Shire could be more often, for all she knew. Kíli seemed to have no qualms about her predilection for Bilbo's scones, and looked happy enough watching the sunset from Bag-end's front bench whilst she exchanged recipes with Bilbo in the kitchen. Moreover, if she were to exchange more than recipes, her son seemed to be unbothered by it.

Now, how could it help when her younger one decided to vanish?

She was distracted from her musings by Bilbo, who guided his pony closer to her with curiosity.

"I knew you didn't mind to travel, but I wasn't aware of your fighting skills."

"I don't mention it unless needed."

"Your war axe is... quite impressive."

Dís smiled at the compliment, nodding with a knowing expression.

"Not used to this kind of lass, huh? Does it bother you?"

"What? No! I... I kind of... I like it. It... suits you. Really."

She kept her half smile, contented.

"When Thorin mentioned you looked more like a grocer than like a burglar, I imagined you would be more tempted by a lass with gardening shears than by a shieldmaiden with a battle axe."

"Hmpf. Those never tempted me, actually. Insipid gossipers unable to think outside their little boring lives. They would never dare to... taste untasted wells, so to say."

"And you?"

"Me, what?"

"Would you dare?"

He wasn't sure her questioning was teasing or actual doubt, but his mind was set on his goal. Bilbo squared his shoulders and uplifted his chin, as if it could make him look burlier.

"I've dared a dragon. Anything less than a furnace with wings is feasible. Or, what is it you think I wouldn't dare?"

"That's what I wonder myself."

The hobbit was startled by Thorin's deep voice rumbling at his side.

"Brother." Dís acknowledged his presence. "We were talking about flowering hobbit lasses who wouldn't dare to taste a... what was it, Bilbo? An untasted well?"

"Well..."

"Of course he would." Thorin measured Bilbo with a piercing gaze. "Given the chance."

"Are you so sure?"

"I'd bet my beard."

"He might be given a chance, then."

"You're too kind."

"No, I'm not. But I'm fair. And you are a fool."

"I won't dispute this."

Bilbo was a little overwhelmed by their interaction, unsure about what, precisely, they were talking about. He cleared his throat to remind them of his presence.

"Aye?"

Both turned to him, questioningly.

"Erm... Any news from the scouts?"

"Unfortunately, nothing yet."

"Then why are the most of us heading south?"

"Because it's the easiest way if someone wants to run away from Erebor, as we believe is Kíli's intent. Too rough terrain to the North, Dáin's people to the East, Forest Fairy to the West. To the South there's Rhûn, Gondor, Dol Amroth, Umbar, Harad..."

"More than enough places if someone wants to hide, huh?"

"Not enough if the one in search of him is as determined as me."

"You forget, brother, the same determination that runs in your blood runs in his veins, too. And that it's called _stubbornness_."

"That's not entirely true. You should know the difference between stubbornness and determination by now."

"Which is...?" Asked Bilbo, just to be sure.

"People call it _stubbornness_ whilst you don't achieve what you seek. When you achieve it..."

"_If_ you achieve it, brother..."

"_When_ you achieve it, people say it was determination."

"Which makes you...?" Questioned Bilbo.

"I reclaimed a mountain, didn't I?"

"Indisputable."

"See, Dís? _Not_ stubborn."

Dís rolled her eyes. It would be a long day of riding.

-ooo-

The searching party rode for just a couple hours before they found something, albeit not tracks belonging to Kíli. A small group of Rohirrim with their stout horses saw them heading south and halted the party.

"News from the North, o people of the anvil?"

"This is our land and you seem far from your own to come questioning for news, people of the horse."

Bilbo facepalmed at Thorin's amount of tact – which was null.

"I'm Dunwine son of Folcwine, Third Marshal of the Ridermark. We're riding on behalf of Bard the Dragonslayer, King of Dale, whose daughter, my sister-in-law, has been kidnapped. Any news from the North to enlighten our search, o people of the anvil?"

Thorin's countenance changed immediately. The ones who knew about the wedding arrangement got startled, Dís bringing a hand to her mouth to muffle a cry of dismay.

"We are friends to King Bard and his family. I'm Thorin son of Thrain, King under the Mountain, and greet you and your party into our land, o Dunwine son of Folcwine. From Erebor to this place no sign of Princess Tilda was seen. We have more scouts to the North, East and West, for our own purposes, and I'm confident they would give notice if any ruffian was seen in these parts. What happened?"

"None knows for sure, your Highness. King Brad found her missing this morning, her chambers in disarray, the window forced from the outside. He fears some unsatisfied merchant guild is to blame, but..." Dunwine dismounted and stepped closer to Thorin, so as to talk to his ears only. "His son, my brother-in-law, mentioned Bard dismissed recently a rich fellow from Rhûn who came to propose marriage to Princess Tilda. Didn't look like the kind who takes _no_ for an answer, in Bain's opinion."

"That's grave news. We'll keep one eye on any clue of her whereabouts while on our own chase. Yet again, better to seek south."

"Thank you very much, your Highness." Dunwine's gratitude was real, as was his worry, and all he could do was to offer the same. "And in what manner can we reciprocate? What is this chase of yours, if I may be so bold and ask?"

For all his worry and empathy about Tilda's kidnapping, Thorin wasn't exactly thrilled with the prospect of confessing his nephew ran away.

"Well, we're on a... traditional game called... track the tracker. Out best scout is given a... lead… and then we try to find him. It's... very entertaining."

Dunwine frowned at the strange dwarwish game and more so when he noticed the amount of weapons they had on themselves and their mounts. He had no wish to be in the poor scout's boots, when he was found. Which made him wonder...

"Your Highness, once you are so certain there's no chance the bandits headed this way, would you mind our company in your _track the tracker_ southward? If this scout of yours is so good, he might be able to aid us in our need."

Considering how fitting it would be if Kíli were the one to rescue Tilda from her captors, if they effectively found Kíli, Thorin had to agree. Not that Thorin had any kind of romantic inclination, of course he didn't!

"The sooner we track this tracker and Tilda's kidnappers, the lighter my heart will beat."

-xxx-

The "Traditional Track the Tracker Tournament" resumed the searching pattern, each rider at a shout's distance from the next one and drawing chevrons across the land. The addition of the Rohirrim party allowed them to cover a wider range. Also, it allowed them to skip the area the blond humans had covered before in their search for Tilda. This gain had them reaching Bard and his own party by the end of the afternoon, when they were preparing to camp.

Dunwine greeted his father-in-law and quickly explained the presence of the dwarves. Bard frowned and hurried to meet the King Under the Mountain.

"What is this _Track the Tracker_ bullshit, Thorin?"

"The bullshit one uses to cover up the stupid deeds of a relative." The dwarf muttered. "I'll explain in full with less audience around us."

"Understood." Bard nodded. "I thank you for your help in the rescue of my daughter. I'll skin her kidnapper alive as soon as I put my hands on his filthy being. I'm afraid the wedding will have to be postponed if we fail to find Tilda soon."

The pain on Bard's face was visible, and Thorin sympathized with the man. One more reason to draw the bowman away from the middle of the camp and break the news.

"Speaking of being afraid… I'm afraid Tilda's kidnapping might not be the only reason to postpone the wedding."

"What?" Bard frowned. "Wasn't it all settled? Didn't we have an agreement?"

"Well, actually…" Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose. "Seems _we_ having an agreement doesn't mean _Kíli_ has an agreement… He insists he's a widower to Tauriel and, as such, unwilling to marry any other person."

"What?" Bard was about to conquer a perpetual frown on his forehead. "What does he claim against my daughter?"

"Nothing! Nothing!" Thorin hurried to clarify. "As a matter of fact, I'm not even sure I told him the name of his would-be-bride before he stormed away and… well, that was the last I saw of him. Our _Track the Tracker_ bullshit, as you correctly classify it, is our effort to find my nephew and bring him back to fulfil his… duties."

Bard frown softened a bit.

"Good. I mean, it's bad enough as it is, but it is good he doesn't have anything against her. I shooed away intendants enough on his behalf to have him despise my little girl." He closed his eyes and breathed deep, trying hard to hide his pain. "If we only find her before anything bad happens…"

Thorin clapped the shoulder of the bowman, compassionate.

"We will, my friend. We will see it done. I don't worry about Kíli, he's more than able to fend for himself in the wild, so, whenever we find him, he's found. Yet Tilda… She's our priority from now on."

Bard thanked him profusely, once more convinced that the blood alliance between their houses was the best thing their families and kingdoms could ever dream.


	20. That's What the Water Gave Me

Helo, dearest readers, have some Kíli&Tilda interaction!

pallysd'Artagnan, Bard has no clue as to what lengts Sigrid's loyalty to her sister goes.  
Celebrilsilweth, they'll find more than they expect, be sure.  
salwyn77, Thorin tries hard, but his creativity has limits, poor dwarf.

Thank you for all the follows, favorites and reviews, you make my day!

=^.^=

Some more days of traveling brought them to the forest river, the one that the Company barrelled down in their flight from the dungeons of the elven king. After crossing it, while the horses rested from their swim, Tilda decided it was for the best to take a bath, much needed after all that traveling.

Tilda's laughter could be heard as the merry sound of fresh water cascading down a rocky spring. The river that ran down from the elven forest was fresh, and the day was sunny, and she was hot from the ride and happy for the company. It had been years since she bathed in a river like that.

Her laughter was so contagious Kíli forgot for the moment that he bled in those waters from the wound inflicted by and orc when Thorin's company was fleeing Thranduil's dungeons. Of course he could forget it, it happened ten years before and he was not even there when Tauriel found blood marks where Óin tried to tend him in less time than one could spell _painkiller_. Certainly, that place bore no memories for him, no more than Tauriel telling him about Legolas following her could do.

The riverstone was warm and comforting under his crossed legs, and his eyes watched without seeing as Tilda enjoyed the warm water ponded in some stone shallows. She had taken off her outer clothes so they would not be soaked in the river crossing, and now enjoyed being only in her undies to take a bath. Kíli could not keep himself from wondering how long had it been since he saw a naked ankle last time.

He diverted his eyes from the unsettling sight, scolding himself for the inappropriateness of staring at Tilda's foot, and blushed. He never had any problems with barefooted hobbit lasses when he travelled to the Shire, and he knew it was not because their feet were big and hairy. He simply could not imagine any hobbit foot in other place than the ground; now, that young woman's pale feet reminded him of silken sheets and the warmth of a fireplace in the Blue Mountains' halls.

Still with the sound of splashing water and crystal laughter in his ears, Kíli reached for his water skin, hoping a draught of water could calm down his confusion. He was drinking when Tilda called him.

"Kíli, look! I'm a mermaid!"

Frowning and considering what in Ulmo's sake did she mean with it, Kíli turned his head to the direction Tilda's voice called.

Then he choked on his own draught of water.

In her innocent play in the river, Tilda had just put herself upside down and showed above the surface a fan of bare feet and ankles that could be described as vaguely _mermaidish_ only by some childish conception.

Kíli was sure Tilda meant nothing but that childish conception, his brain told him, but some differences in culture were never fixed in his mind and _a pair_ of naked ankles played in the water right there in front of him…

"Tilda, stop it!"

Her delicate feet found their way down from the surface and Tilda's wet face showed above the rim of the water.

"What happened?" In two or three quick steps Tilda left the river and was beside Kíli, still dripping water. She surveilled the vicinity. "Is there anybody out there? Are we safe?"

Kíli tried to divert from what was really disturbing him with undesired effects. But the water made her cotton underwear to cling on her body and its weight to pull her neckline down. Not that any neckline was really needed when the fabric of her undies clung to her body like a second skin.

And the most disturbing was that Tilda didn't even care.

"We…" He tried to find excuses. "We'll never be safe this close to the elven river. I know it is enjoyable to take a bath, but, if we risk…"

Tilda's crystal laughter struck him like a slingshot projectile.

"You're afraid of water!"

"What?"

"You're afraid of water, that's why you keep away from the banks, even when…"

"Shut up!" Kíli was on his feet now, ignoring whatever could be said that might be true. "I just don't want us to get caught by, by…"

He looked desperately around them, sorting what could be chosen as a menace ready to catch them.

A blue jay chirped in a nearby tree, cherishing the sunny afternoon.

"By a chilly wind?"

Kíli looked down at the rock under his feet and sentenced.

"Tilda, this was cruel."

For once she perceived that he was really upset, despite ignoring the real reason for it, and tried to fix things between them.

"Kíli, sorry, I didn't mean…" A cold hand reached for his face, asking for forgiveness. "It is all right if you fear water. You were very brave to cross this river like you did, fear and all, and…"

That was the last drop of river water in the cup of his thin patience. Kíli grabbed her hand, taking it off his cheek and staring sternly into her eyes, assuring himself that way he would not look at any other disturbing place of her body.

"I'm. Not. Afraid. Of. Waaa…!"

The last word was literally drowned in the river in which Tilda just pulled him in, grabbing his wrist with her free hand and moving fast as a fish.

"Tilda!" Kíli was sputtering as his head popped out of the water. "Why did you do this?"

"The best way to overcome a fear is by facing it!"

Her smile was too genuine for Kíli not to notice the prankster behind it. Of course, it was the kind of smile himself and his brother graced their victims times enough.

"You… I faced a thrice accursed _dragon_, you wicked mermaid!"

"Aye, but it did _not_ spit water!"

She _had_ a point, even if the logic behind it was twisted. At least, it had the effect of chilling down his earlier reactions to the sight of Tilda's ankles, and he was kind of grateful for it.

"Gnn… Right." Kíli agreed, gritting his teeth. "Now, now that I waded across the river once and survived your attempt of assassination by drowning, might we please get out of here and _dry_ ourselves while we have sun on our heads?"

Kíli accompanied his exaggerated speech by equally exaggerated gestures, only to hear Tilda laugh again. So she did, and answered with the same exaggeration. For a fraction of a second, he wondered why was it so important to hear her laughter.

"Surely, Milord, for none knows when a wicked mermaid might attempt against your noble life again."

He held her hand hoping his embarrassing situation of before had gone unnoticed and helped Tilda out of the water and back on the flat stones their things were drying on. Her hand was still in his, for the support her body needed not, but her soul.

"I got scared, you know." Kíli mentioned after they both wringed underwear and hair the best they could and sat down to sun themselves.

"Of… of the water?" This time Tilda's voice was not teasing, but genuinely concerned. "I didn't mean… I mean, I…"

"Hush, it's all right." Kíli dismissed her apologies. "Actually, I got scared about _you_. I thought you were in danger there, with your head under the water. I would never forgive myself if you got drowned."

It was not a complete lie, and it was what Kíli had to justify his strong reaction to Tilda's mermaid tail joke.

"Oh." She fidgeted with the string of her chemise. "'Ma sorry, I really didn't mean… But then it makes sense, you know. Dwarves live in the mountains, how would you know I could not get drowned?"

"Of course you could get drowned, you're child of Men."

Tilda smiled at his misconception.

"Kíli, I'm from Lake Town."

"And so?"

"I learned to swim before I learned to walk, Kíli. _All_ children from Lake Town do."

"There's no such thing as _all whatever do whatever_, Tilda. It's like saying _all dwarves are smiths_, or _all elves are_…" Kíli's eyes lost the brilliance of the argument and left the sentence unfinished. "… whatever."

Tilda noticed the change in Kíli's tone but could not quite figure out what it meant. All she could do was to explain things better with the data she possessed.

"I know people are not all the same. Yet, _all_ children from Lake Town learn to swim before they learn to walk. This is a fact."

"Why?" Asked Kíli, taking heart to look at her direction again.

"Because all who don't, get drowned."

The statement was so crude it sent shivers down Kíli's spine, bad shivers.

"Do your… Do your people let babies drown?" He could not control the disgust in his voice. It was unthinkable, on any account of his.

"What?" Tilda noticed the disgust in Kíli's voice. "No! Of course not! They're _taught to swim_ least they get drowned!" The horror of what passed though the dwarf's mind struck her. "Kíli, how can you think _this_ of my people? We take care of each other, we… No mother or father would _ever_, do you understand me, _ever_ let a baby go close to water without knowing how to swim! This is… this is… Kíli, how could you even _think_ my people would be capable of such a thing?"

The young woman was so upset by what Kíli understood, or rather, misunderstood, from her words, that by now she was already up and grabbing her bit of clothes from the stony riverside, right to where horse and pony seemed to be having a quite fairer conversation than their owners. Kíli lost more time taking his pieces of warfare garment while putting his boots on, and stumbled right behind her.

"Tilda, wait! It was not… I didn't mean… Tilda, I did _not_think_…"_

"Aye, that you did too!" Was all she conceded to shout from over her shoulder. "I saw your face, Kíli, the _disgust _in your face! What do you think, us Lake Towners, humans, are so heartless that we don't take care of our youngsters? Our babies don't _sprout_ out of stone, they are _hard_ to get, our mothers _die_ to have babies, did you know?"

"I… I…" Kíli had lots of positive answers starting with _I_, but for once he considered the Children of Iluvatar might have an everlasting stock of wind and how Mahal prepared his own people to deal with it.

A will as hard as stone was part of it.

A patience the size of a mountain, too.

He angered a human woman, and would have to weather it.

By the time Tilda reached her rohirrim steed, peacefully grazing by the eaves of the south margin of the river, Kíli was beside her, half of his things scattered all the way from the river bank to the horses.

"Tilda, please, I…"

"You what? Want to criticize humans from Lake Town some more?"

He reached for the horses' reins before Tilda could do it. She was better than him in the water, but Kíli was versed enough in the deals ashore. Now, to deal with an angry woman… that was _not_ his mother…

"I ask you to hear me and to forgive me. I misunderstood you. I understood you wrong."

"You… You what?"

Tilda heard so much about the stubbornness of dwarves in the last years that it was hard to believe her ears.

"I… Misunderstood you. I didn't realize what you meant when you told about babies who don't swim. It's obvious. I mean, the truth is obvious. No father or mother would let a baby to crawl around unwatched and uncared for. I'm sorry."

Tilda's anger boiled down under Kíli's puppy eyes. How could it not? Besides, she never heard about a dwarf saying he was sorry about anything.

"I… I think I'm… over-reacting a little." She said, wiping a drop of water from her brow. The other hand played with the portion of the reins she had taken hold with the intention of running away from Kíli as soon as possible. "Maybe not just a little…"

The dwarf reached out his free hand and cupped her face the best he could. Tilda was not extremely tall, for a human, but four inches were enough to make him to tilt his head up to face her. Cupping her face made him feel she was closer to him.

"We've both been under a strain that leads to nowhere safe. Why don't we… Why don't we end our traveling for today, dry our clothes, allow the horses to graze, make a hot meal and give ourselves some rest? It might do us good. Both of us."

Tilda didn't expect such a reasonable suggestion from Kíli, focused on her escaping as she was, but it made some sense. Her panic on being caught spoke louder, nevertheless.

"We should be going. We're too close to Lake Town, people there can recognize me and…"

"Tilda…" Kíli dared to arrange a lock of hair behind her ear. "We're miles from Lake Town by now. No bargeman would be so bold as to come here at this time of the afternoon, only to reach Lake Town after dusk." Then he reconsidered. "Aye, your father would be so bold, but since he doesn't work as a bargeman anymore…"

This statement almost brought some relief to Tilda, suppressing her anxiety.

"You're right. We should stop…" But then some kind of panic took hold on her again. "But no, Kíli, what if they recognize me? All the bells of Dale must be tolling by now, everybody knows I'm a runaway!"

He let his shoulders to drop down.

"Tilda, you know bargemen don't come this way this hour of the afternoon. Nobody will see us, and anyone who sees us won't know who we are."

"But if… But if…"

"_But ifs_ we might think in the morning. We're both tired and in need of a hot meal. Trust me, after some days of hard riding, both rider and horse need some rest."

Tilda's horse seemed to agree, neighing softly.

"Maybe… Maybe you're right." She dropped her eyes to Kíli's hand, still holding a lock of hair in his fingers. He noticed he had forgotten to let it go and withdrew his hand quickly, embarrassed. Tilda looked back at his eyes, not completely happy about his last action. "We should camp here for the night. We all must take some rest."

Kíli let out a sigh, glad they were on good terms and agreeing about something. If they had all the way to the woodmen dwellings to go, it would be better to be in harmony.


	21. Camp Fire Stories

Helo, dearest readers, let us see how the Traditional Treck the Tracker Tournament goes!  
Celebrisilwth, if we have misundestandings among us humans, it would be a surprise if there weren't among dwarves and men; but, like us, they can talk to each other and find solutions to their quarrels.  
pallysd'Artagnan, they may be safe for this night, but what of the whole of their journey?  
salwyn77, thank you so much, there will be more sweet moments in the future - but not only...

=^.^=

The searching party was slow in covering terrain even with dwarven help. It took them days to ride what would be done in a short while, looking for signs of the so-called kidnapper.

During supper none was too keen to talk, worried as they were, but the warmth of the meal in their bellies and of the fires around their camp settled their mood. Men and dwarrow both defined watches, and some went to their bedrolls early. Bard, worried to the last drop of blood, circled the camp as far as the light of the fires reached, a bear caged in the circle of light.

The night owls, like Bofur and Nori, played cards whilst hens, like Dwalin and Dori, were long snoring. Thorin rested his back against a large boulder, keeping his own watch over his closest family. Bilbo, always the curious one, sat cross-legged near a fire, where some Dalemen shared stories with the Rohirrim. One of Bard's rangers, a mature fellow with clever eyes, was finishing a story.

"… And the poor fisher, after rowing all the way to the springs of the river, found the place the old woman told him. Once he pulled his boat to the shore, and said the magic words she taught him, the sand in the chest she gave him turned to pure gold. Then he gave it to a beautiful maiden who stood there waiting, exactly as the woman said there would be. In the end, not only did he keep the gold, but also found the woman's daughter and they wed and lived happily ever after."

"But why didn't the old woman spend her gold and pay for her ride across the lake? I never understood this part." One of the younger guys asked, annoyed.

"That's because you don't pay attention, Jarred. The old woman was a fairy, and she was testing the fisher. She wouldn't let anyone greedy near her daughter, that's why she begged for the ride and only then told him there would be a prize."

"Oh, I see." Bilbo shared his opinion. "It's like the stories where the hero must have a pure heart to achieve his goal. I've heard some of the kind."

"But this, master Halfling, is not about achieving a goal. It's about having a pure heart and keeping faith. If he were greedy and said the magic words before he reached the right place, the boat would sink with the weight of the gold. He would drown and wouldn't find the maiden. The fisher was selfless and kept faith on the fairy's words, that he would find happiness at the end of his journey. And so he did."

Bilbo nodded, agreeing, happy to have one more story to add to his collection.

Dunwine cleared his throat, granting the attention of the story sharers for the next one.

"The pure of heart might journey even when they ain't aware of it. There are paths, hidden to most, that only the pure of heart might tread."

"Are there? Where to?"Asked Bilbo. "How can one journey without being aware?"

Dunwine smiled, knowingly. The hobbit asked exactly what it took to hook the audience.

"There are. There are places far, so far away, no mortal can reach them."

Bilbo nodded again, understanding. The Undying Lands. He heard about them in the House of Elrond.

"Bulshit. Wherever an elf can go, a man can go too." Said one of the Dalemen, not to challenge Dunwine's words, but to induce him to continue.

"Really? Would you dare to go to the Golden Forest, where the elf witch is queen? Or to take one of the swan ships that sail away from the Gray Havens and never return?"

"Oh, come on. Everybody knows nobody enters the Forest of Golden Leaves and comes back unscathed. Only a fool would set foot in Lórien."

"And yet, it is about Lórien that I'm about to tell. Not the forest, but the _Power_."

A chorus of _ohs_ and _ahs_ followed the statement, and Bilbo felt someone sit beside him. He didn't need to look to know it was Dís, the scent of her warm skin so close taking him by surprise.

"I love to hear stories too." She whispered in his ear, rising goosebumps. Bilbo smiled and reached out his hand, unsure if it was proper to hold hers in public. She squeezed it affectionately, making clear it was all right. If not for everybody, for her, and this was what mattered.

"When the world was young, and no Sun nor Moon were to be seen in the skies, the Powers could ride from East to their lands in the far West with nothing more than their will. Anyone with eyes sharp enough could stand on the sands of the shores of Vinyamar, in the long sunken lands of Beleriand, and look straight to the shores of the Undying Lands in the West. It was long, long ago, before the world was made round."

Lots of nods and words of agreement. Everybody knew some legend of the First Days, and the terrible War of Wrath that defeated the Enemy, Morgoth, and rearranged Middle-earth as it was shaped now. Dunwine took a sip of tea and continued.

"When my grandsire was a bairn, he had a strange dream. In this dream he walked a long time in the dark, through deep banks and amidst overhanging hedges, and then tall trees and brambles, always hearing a whisper that seemed alive. The moon shone not, yet there were great glow-worms creeping about the borders of the path, so then it was no more a complete dark. When he made his way through the last of the vines, the day was clearing, yet he couldn't see the sun. The land was covered in mists, and he could feel sand under his feet, as well as hear the sound of waves on a beach. Then, the scent of fresh baked bread made his belly to growl with hunger. Ye all can relate."

Dunwine earned some laughter, used this gap of time to bite down some bread himself, and resumed.

"He ran to where the delicious smell came from, and found a small cottage, with many small curtained windows, on a small hill. It was made of wood and had living offshoots growing from its columns, and lianas flowered wild. Now, take heed: it was winter in Rohan, and he wore a woollen sleeping gown. Yet, flowers bloomed all around the cottage, and his feet were warm even walking barefoot."

Dunwine was a good storyteller, and his small audience was silent as a mouse. Fíli, hungry for stories like a wee dwarfling, had found his place beside Dís not long after she joined Bilbo, and barely breathed.

"A beautiful woman appeared at the door when he was about to knock on it. If it was an elf or a fae, none knows, but she was kind, and invited him in. Her name was Vairë. Soon he was fed fresh bread and cream and honey, and other children, as young as him or yet younger, sat beside him and ate too, laughing and chatting like old friends. When they all had their fill, a handsome man came and invited them to a large chamber with a fireplace. My grandsire found it strange, because the chamber was larger than the whole cottage as seen from the outside, but he was afraid to ask any question and be shooed away from that beautiful place. As soon as all those children sat down on the rugs and cushions, the man and the woman sat down too, in front of the fire, and he began to tell a story."

"A story inside a story. It's a beautiful technique." Bilbo whispered in Dís' ear, and she smiled, agreeing.

"The man introduced himself as Lindo, and said: "_Ye all wandered to these lands and were invited to our home. Ye are to know the story of the Cottage of Lost Play so ye'll never forget it, and can tell others not to be afraid if their feet ever wander hither. It began the day when the Powers hid Valinor, enclosing it from the rest of the Earth. There are two paths left for those who might wander in peace. A gorgeous path, the bridge of the rainbow, was set by Oromë, yet so slender is the work of his hands that only the Powers themselves travel it. No living Men may tread it's swaying threads and few of the Eldar have the heart for it. The Eldar travel more often through the Straight Road, which lingers where the old path of Belegaer once was, their ships allowed this grace by the Powers themselves after Arda was made round._" The children exchanged curious glances, as many of them didn't even know it hadn't been round since forever. The man, or elf, noticing their confusion, resumed. "_The day the last king of Númenor, Ar-Pharazôn, fell to the lies of Sauron and set his fleet against Aman, it was also the last time Erú Ilúvatar, the One, intervened directly on the matters of his Children, Elves and Men. So, he crushed the Númenorean host under stones, and made the world to become round. This is why mortals cannot sail over the seas and try to find the Undying Lands anymore. Yet, there is also the path ye all trod, made by request of Manwë himself, who looked with sorrow upon the hiding of Valinor. Irmo,one of the Masters of the Spirits, who is also called Lórien, created this path, through which you came, the Olórë Mallë, the Path of Dreams. Children of the Eldar, and of Men, and of the peoples who came after, all are welcome to our little Cottage. Older people might come, once and again, yet it is only the pure of heart that are allowed this path."_

Bilbo heard those words and wondered if some of his childhood weirdest dreams didn't find an explanation in the Olórë Mallë theory. As memories of early childhood often befuddled his brain, it would not be a surprise if he found out some of them were really memories instead of whisps of dreams. Yet, wouldn't it be too much presumption to deem himself pure of heart enough to have trodden the Paths of Dream?

Dunwine resumed, mesmerizing the audience . The hobbit obligued.

"Then Lindo said to my grandsire and all the children at the Cottage of Lost Play: "_This path ye'll tread back to yer homes, and may yet tread back to hear more stories and play more games. But now is time to go home, and sleep yer rest, and be in peace."_ With these words Lindo said his farewell, and my grandsire and the other children left the cottage to find each their own path back home."

Dís sighed.

"It was a beautiful dream your grandsire dreamed, master Dunwine. I wish this Path of Dreams could really be trodden."

"But it is, your Highness. My grandsire trod it, I just told you. Do ye doubt my words?"

The dwarven princess smiled sheepishly, written on her face that it was hard to believe such a fantasy.

"Then allow me to tell you the last words of this story, for they are yet to be told. When my grandsire left the Cottage, he asked Vairë for a token, to remember it, as he knew he was growing up and the world was harsh, so he feared the night would come when he would wish to find the Olórë Mallë yet his heart would not be pure enough anymore. Vairë smiled and picked a flower from the lianas growing on the roof, put in his hand, and closed his fingers around it. When he woke up next morning, shivering from the cold the snow outside granted, the flower was still in his hand, unwithered."

As if daring anyone around that fire to dispute his words, Dunwine brought his own hand to his collar, fingered something and produced a necklace with a locket. The necklace was made of silver, sturdy enough to endure the rough lifestyle of a rider of Rohan. Inside the locket, a crystal ampoule filled with clarified oil contained a single, five petaled, white flower, of a kind none of them ever saw.


	22. Mists and Darkness

Sorry for the late update, I got sick last week and unable to post.

=^.^=

He had been walking through the forest for hours (or days, he wasn't sure), weariness overcoming his limbs, but he couldn't stop. He would never stop, not until he found what he missed, and it sure was so close, behind the next tree, the next hill, the next… But it was hard to find, in the ever changing forest, through the disturbing mists.

Kíli opened his mouth to call out, but no sound came. Again. His whole body hurt, he was tired, but he couldn't stop and was unable to cry for help.

"Please, let me see you…" He mouthed to the mists, no sound leaving his lips, only tears streaking his cheeks.

"_You are looking in the wrong place._"

The voice startled him, and he looked around in hope of seeing its owner.

"I miss you so much!"

He mouthed in silence, hopping she would hear him anyway.

"_It's not yet the time for you to follow me here. I must spend my time of waiting, you know._"

He felt cold arms embracing him, weightless fingers caressing his chest, and the breath of her voice in his ear was all he could focus on.

"But…"

"_Shh… You should find it by yourself, love. You found it before, you don't need me for this._"

"I can't…"

"_You must._"

"No! I don't want to!"

The cold contact left him at his cry, a sad sigh and the feeling he disappointed the one he wished to never hurt.

"_It was right there_…" Her voice came from afar. "_Don't scare it away_…"

"No! Please, stay!"

He cried for her, but it was too late, she was gone, leaving him alone once more. The forest darkened, the mists turning from silver to lead gray, and all Kíli could do was to weep for his lost hope.

Bilbo was puffing his pipe beside Fíli, who patiently sharpened each of his knives with a whetstone. They were rituals, both actions: breath in, puff out perfect smoke circles, meditate on life, the universe and everything whilst the smoke rings faded, breath in… wet the stone, slide it against the knife's edge, cleanse the infinitesimal amount of draff left, see the result against the light of the fire, wet the stone…

Dís watched the silent no-interaction with sad eyes. There should be another pair of hands either puffing a pipe or sharpening a sword, or yet fletching arrows. To forge arrow points was one thing, but fletching the arrows demanded a sense of balance that was more refined. She decided to break the silence to keep her mind away from her pain.

"Bilbo, dear, I hate that you were right, but I'd hate even more if I hadn't you here to know my son's mind better than myself!"

Bilbo had no time enough to be flabbergasted by her compliment when Fíli stepped in, jealous.

"So are things now, then? First, my little brother leaves without telling me a word; second, nobody asks me if I know about him; and now the burglar gets all praise for finding out Kíli's missing!"

"Pardon me?"

Bilbo couldn't understand Fíli's outburst.

"Me and Kíli have been ass and pants since he was in swaddles, Bilbo. Everybody knows it. Then, why didn't anybody ask me about him? Wouldn't it be easier?"

"Fíli, son, I don't get the point…"

"The point is, what's the point in being older brother, crown prince, whatever, if none ever takes me in account? I could have told Thorin forcing Kíli into marriage wouldn't work. He didn't bother to ask me. Then Kíli vanishes and nobody wonders where he really is for two days. Nobody bothers to ask me, again. Will anyone hear me when Thorin leaves the throne or will I be a decorative item of the treasury? This is not right."

Dís was confused and ashamed at the same time. Fíli _did_ have a point.

"Fíli… Your words are true. Yet, did you consider I have lived here in Erebor the last whole year and didn't have a clue about Thorin's plans, either? That this marriage thing took me by surprise as much as you, or as Kíli?"

Bilbo chuckled, breaking the awkward mood that was settling between mother and son.

"You know, Fíli, it was all your fault that I knew Kíli wasn't there, don't you?"

"Pardon me?" The dwarf cried, surprised. "What did I do to grant you this information?"

"More what you didn't', actually. You and Kíli are ass and pants since he was in swaddles, as you said yourself. If you knew where he was, I was absolutely certain you'd not say a word. Yet, if he really were in his bedchambers, you'd be planted like a tree in front of that door and shouting your mother down of her intention to talk to him." Then he added, as if in second thought. "Or trying, at least."

Dís turned to his older son, pondering Bilbo's words.

"It that so, son? You knew it all the time?"

The dwarf only nodded, acquiescing.

"Then why didn't you tell me, for Durin's sake?"

Bilbo could see the twinkle in Fíli's eyes, all mischief and loyalty to his little brother.

"You see my point now? Nobody asked…"

Dís pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling defeated.

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Because you know your offspring?" He offered.

Bilbo laughed.

"Really, this family never ceases to surprise me. And I love to see how you change from jumping to one another's throat in a minute to melting hearths in the next."

Dís threw his a meaningful look and then back to her son.

"Fíli, I'd box your ears if I had any hope it would fix anything, yet, as it didn't in the past eighty-seven years, I'll just keep it for future reference. _And_ charge you for it, of course."

Now Fíli looked a little worried, scratching his head and glancing at her sideways.

"Are you sure there's not a way I can escape it this time?"

"No, there isn't." Dís shook her head, unmoved by her son's pleading voice. What Kíli had of puppy eyes, Fíli had of melting voice. The dwarrowdam was well aware of it, though not always immune to it. "Once we find your brother - _if_ we find him, Mahal grant me this grace! – you'll both hear the lecture of the age, I swear!"

Fíli hugged her warmly, sharing in her worry.

"I'll be glad to hear this lecture, if only for having my brother back to us!"

The anger Legolas felt faded after a couple days of riding. His father was an intolerant prick, no doubt, but the prince himself hadn't been any different in the past. Blame his upbringing. How could he be any different when his role model was Thranduil son of Oropher? Growing up with stories off the lost land of Doriath, of the glorious Menegroth, the halls of Thingol. Pity none of those stories taught about the fall that comes from pride, focusing instead on the betrayal of others. Always blaming others, never considering one's own flaws.

Likewise, it was the dwarrow's greed that brought Smaug, not Smaug's own greed. Blaming the victim. It sure was easier than taking his own share of responsibility for not helping the exiles. It was not even the case of fighting the dragon – the elven army was unlikely to have more success than the dwarrow one – but allowing all those people to wander with no aid at all.

Tauriel was right, though it took Legolas time to understand. It was one world they all shared, elves, dwarrow, men. And halflings, he added mentally after a moment. Whatever endangered one of them, endangered all of them.

He learned. It took time, but he learned. If he learned, there was hope his father would learn too, one day. But Legolas suspected it would take a very long time, and to be stuck in that palace didn't help. But how could he make Thranduil leave the comfort of his dwellings to see the truth that was outside?

To think about solutions felt better than simply being angry. Reasons to be angry he had plenty, but so believed Thranduil. What made him better if he acted no different from his father?

His musings were cut short by the whack of an arrow hitting a tree close to him. Centuries of warfare training took control, bow and arrow in his hands faster that one could spell _danger_. His horse neighed, ready to answer his any command. A trained warhorse would not rear in fear under attack, and Sador had been trained by the best. Legolas too, but his thoughts had been too far away to do him any good. He would never be caught unaware if his mind were where it should be.

His arrow flew to the source of the attack, followed by a succession of shots aimed to every moving spot he could descry. They were many, but the quantity didn't scare the elf. He had dealt with several orcs simultaneously more than once. Each of his arrows found it's mark, and none of theirs was able to scratch him. Strange, orcs were gross, but this was ridiculous. Almost as if they were trying _not_ to hit him.

Yet, there was a limit to how many enemies one can take down alone.

When he noticed the arrows had thin, almost invisible strings attached, his arms were already entangled. Spider web. Before Sador had a chance to break into gallop, a heavy net was already upon them. Hoping against hope, Legolas used his hunting knives to disentangle them, but the orc archers were simply too many.

When the spider bite came, his blood was running fast, adrenaline dripping with his sweat. Dizzy, the elf struggled against the venom, but the forest swirled around his head. Losing his strength and ability to move, all he could do was to watch with disgust as the larger of the orcs made a signal to stop the remaining ones from shooting. Some of the others came closer, securely binding his arms and legs, as well as gagging him, all the while grunting in the hideous language of theirs.

Unable to move or even to shout, all Legolas was able was to think how come he had been ambushed, defeated and imprisoned. He hoped his mind would clear from the venom fast, so he could plan an escape. If the orcs didn't kill him right away, there was a chance they wanted him for ransom. Whilst still alive, there was hope.


	23. Merry Banter

Helo, dearest readers, a bit more Kíli & Tilda, still oblivious of the searchers behind and the danger ahead.

Thank so much to always present Celebrisilweth, pallysd'Artagnan, salwyn77 and newcomers NixNix8, MissMisfitLove, ThatOtherWriterGirl, Symphytum, you all make my life great!

=^.^=

Tilda had cleansed a good area of ground from leaves and twigs when Kíli came back with wood. The clean patch would grant them more comfort to sleep and, moreover, tranquillity that the fire wouldn't spread whilst they slept.

"This will last for the night." Said Kíli, dropping the wood on the ground. "And this will make a merry meal!" A pheasant was proudly pulled from behind his back, obviously killed by a precise arrow.

"Hmm, this will be tasty!"

Tilda smiled and sat down to pluck the feathers while Kíli kindled the fire. Funny how just a couple of days had been enough for them to settle a routine of mutual help and support, the dwarf mused.

"We'll make a good ride tomorrow after this rest."

"I hope so." She said, frowning. "Da must have sent patrols to hunt me, by now."

"He doesn't know where to seek you. Tracking takes time, and we'll use it in our favour."

"Won't your people be hunting you, too?" Asked the young woman, gathering the guts off the pheasant and discarding it with the feathers on a large leaf. "Is a prince of Durin's line so easily disposable?"

Kíli shook his head, adding wood to the fire, a shadow of sadness on his face.

"They probably will, because I'm someone they expect to fulfil a duty. My brother is crown prince, they don't need me, actually."

"Only to tie alliances, like me."

He heard the sadness in her voice and looked at Tilda with understanding.

"Aye, just like you."

Silence settled down, both of them gazing at the fire whilst the bird roasted, each one lost in thoughts of their own lives and family they left behind. Kíli shook his head, trying to shoo the sudden sadness away.

"It's getting chilly. I have a flask of liquor somewhere here." He rummaged through his pack whilst talking to his young traveling companion. "You know, the first thing I ever shot down was a pheasant? Thorin took me and Fee for an outing once, and I had gotten my first bow just some weeks before. It was around this season in the year and…"

The conversation flowed smoothly after this, the tension of being expected to be adult and responsible forgotten for the time being. But every now and then their talking slipped back to stories involving Sigrid, Fíli, Thorin, Dís, Bard or Bain, being impossible to talk about their lives without mentioning any of them. Fíli's little pranks and Bain's shenanigans made them laugh more than once, but soon it became plain that those memories would hurt more than amuse, at the prospect of not meeting them anymore.

"What will we tell the woodmen?" Tilda changed the subject, sad eyes set on the bonfire.

"Didn't figure out yet, but we have a long stretch of forest to ride until we're there. It takes a moon to cross it, we have more than a fortnight ahead of us, I'm sure we'll think of something that doesn't raise suspicions."

"Aye." She agreed with a smile. "Dale doesn't trade with them on a regular basis, so we can say anything and it will be fine, like, I'm a widow wanting to settle away from my former home and you are my servant."

"Your servant? Not very dignified for a son of Durin, no way!" He smirked back. "We can say I'm a retired merchant and you're my housemaid."

"Housemaid?" Tilda returned him a humpf. "Of course I know how to tend a house, or even to helm a demesne, but this doesn't make you my overlord. No, I'm a rich woman and you're my bodyguard."

"I'd have no problem guarding your body, but…" The realization of what else his words could mean hit him and Kíli wished his brain worked faster than his mouth at least for once. "No way, I'm a hunter and you… you're my cook."

"A simple cook? No way, I'm a barger and you're my shoreman."

"No, I'm a blacksmith and you're my apprentice."

"Hmm, this one sounds better, but no, too hot a work. I'm a weaver and _you_ are my apprentice."

"Fabric isn't a thing that lasts like good smithery; so no, we dwarrow make things to last. I'm a masonry man and you're my brick layer."

"You think I'm a mule to carry so much weight? No, I'm a painter and you're my model."

"As if someone would wish to look at me any longer than necessary…" He scowled. "No, _I'm_ the painter and _you_ are my model."

"What's the problem with looking at you? You're a fine man to my eyes. So I'm the sculptor and you're my model."

"I'm not a man, I'm a barely bearded _dwarf_, and this isn't fine for a dwarf." He thought hard of some other idea to change the subject from his looks. "I'm a horseshoe maker and you work leathers."

"I'm a saddle maker and you make reins." Tilda didn't drop the subject, to Kíli's despair. "I'm _not_ a dwarrowdam, so it doesn't matter what they think is fine. Now I'm a rider and you're my stableman."

"No, I'm the rider and you…" Kíli gulped down the fantasy that just hit his imagination. "All right, you're the rider and I'm your saddle."

The absurdity of the idea, in Tilda's mind, was enough for her to drop the dwarf appearance subject and to turn to a humorous banter. "We can't count on horses all the time, Kíli. I'm the walker and you're my staff."

The dwarf chocked on the idea of her holding his '_staff_', and tried to find some neutral stuff.

"I'm your staff and you're my light."

"I'm your light and you're my heavy."

"Dwarf bones are quite heavy, true; you're my light and I'm your shadow."

"You're my shadow and I… I…"

Tilda failed to find a suited word to continue the game.

"You're my light." Kíli stated again.

"No, we used this word already, Kíli!"

The dwarf heaved a sigh.

"But it is true, Tilda. When I left Erebor I was all darkness in my anger. Then you came and brought light to me. Also, my heart stood heavy in my chest, and you made it lighter. So, you're my light, either way."

Tilda lowered her gaze, struck by his soft words.

"Then it isn't fair. You found such beautiful things to say and named yourself as being my shadow. You're so much more than a shadow, Kíli. So much more."

A sad smile reached the corner of his eyes.

"No, I'm not much more than a shadow, Tilda, not really. Not since I lost Tauriel. I do my duties to the kingdom, I war when I must, I attend meetings and I smile when I'm supposed to, but I'm just a shadow. My light has gone with her, and now I'm only a shadow of whom I was."

"Don't say such thing!" Her small hand found his dropped shoulder and squeezed it. "If this is only a shadow of yourself, Kíli, then I wish I could see you whole again, and I must say even the shadow of you is so much more than most people out there."

"Nah." He dismissed the praise. "I feel battered and old, Tilda, far beyond my age. These ten years after the reclaiming of Erebor feel like a hundred, weigh like a thousand. All I can hope is that my life ends swiftly and I can see Tauriel again."

"Kíli, no!" Tilda admonished, thinking fast for something to lighten him up. "You can't, if you… If you pass away, who'll help me reach the woodsmen? And… And you're _my_ shadow, remember? Where will I rest from the sun if you're not here?"

Her effort was rewarded with a sad smile.

"You don't need my help, Tilda, you were heading there before we met, remember? You'll do just fine."

"Doesn't matter!" She insisted. "It might be true I was heading there already, but traveling with you is…" The young woman stopped to find the right word to describe what it _was_ to travel with Kíli instead of alone, and it was hard. She didn't reason until then what traveling with him really meant. It was _safer_, of course, having someone to share night watches instead of sleeping with one eye open and the constant fear of being discovered by a searching party. But _safer_ was kind of utilitarian, and not enough. Thinking of utilitarian, it was also _healthier_, as Kíli's hunting skill provided them with fresh meat more often than not, but _health_ was not the reason she preferred to travel with him. Having his company meant she would have someone to talk to, and time passed so faster! It was also funny, Kíli had always a joke or the memory of a prank to tell and make her smile. But it didn't dissipate his somber moments, the sadness that showed in his eyes when he talked about Tauriel or the anger when mentioning the decision of marrying him away out of politics – an anger she shared, obviously. But to travel with him was not only for fun, or for sharing angers. It was more. So much more that it was hard to settle for just one word. "…Better."

All these thoughts ran across her mind in the fraction of a moment it took for him to turn his eyes from her down to the fire, and her last word brought his gaze back to her face.

"Better?"

Tilda smiled at the surprise she saw in his face, and had to supress the urge to reach out and stroke his cheek.

"Aye, better!"

"I think…" Kíli considered his own feelings on the last few days. "I think _better _is more than I… I think_ better_ sounds good."

Kíli smiled, and this time the smile reached his eyes, and it was not sad.


	24. Tracks

**Pallysd'Artagnan**, they may or may not be slowly perceiving they mean more than just friends to each other;  
**Salwyn77**, cruel is what is yet to happen to them…  
**Jiba25**, maybe having naughty thoughts might enlighten him on what is happening in his heart!  
**Celebrisilweth**, they are slow, but spending so much time together is bound to make them understand what is happening to them;  
**TheOtherWriterGirl**, dreams can be a path to the Undying Lands, don't forget!

Thank you all for the continued support, you mean the world to me!

=^.^=

It was not much. A hoof print here, the remnants of a fire there. It seemed the earth itself was helping to hide any track, to disguise any clue as something out of nature itself. What could be a trail of horse footmarks soon had to be dismissed because a random wild boar herd decided that was the best path to wander around and poke the ground after worms and roots. What could be the remnants of a roasted hare was mixed up with splinters of a tree that was struck by lightning, making it impossible to figure out if the hare had been roasted by a camp fire or by a force of nature. If the little they found was really trace of runaway Kíli or kidnapped Tilda, it seemed some fuzzy power was playing hide and seek with the searching party. _And_ winning.

They had crossed the Forest River some miles before, and were following a possible track up its right margin. Bard scowled at the choice, claiming all it would lead them to would be the old barge berth where the Laketowners collect the barrels that came down from the elven halls. He was right, of course, and cursed a little more.

Bilbo watched the surroundings, curious. There was something familiar and yet not, and he questioned the nearest dwarf.

"I don't remember passing this way when we came from the Shire, Dwalin."

"No." Dwalin agreed. "We crossed River Running right after we left the forest road, and headed to New Lake Town by its left margin. We are coming from Erebor by its right banks, this place was not in our coming route."

The dwarf king let himself down to the large stones that covered the terrain. Bilbo hurried to his side, worried.

"Thorin, are you all right?"

"I know this place."

Thorin's deep voice rumbled in an ominous tone, startling the hobbit.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Don't you remember?

To the hobbit's surprise, Thorin reached for the stone with his bare hands, feeling the grain of the sand, seeming to merge with the nature of the rock. His chin trembled, and something, a fleeting shine, bordered the strong Longbeard's eyes.

"I could have lost Kíli here. I allowed Óin to tend to his wound for five minutes… _five minutes_… it was poisoned, and I allowed _five minutes_…"

Bilbo watched as Thorin rubbed the stone with his hand, now as if he were able to crush it to dust, then as if in a soft caress. Something splashed on the stone, and the hobbit realized it was a tear drop.

"Thorin… You did your best. We just escaped the elven halls, you were worried on the whole Company, besides, no one could have known it was poisoned. Don't blame yourself!"

Thorin turned his sapphire eyes to the hobbit, and he could see the turmoil in there.

"Bilbo, my naïve friend… none mends an arrow wound in five minutes…"

"And none escaped those dungeons since the world was made round, so, can you just stop? Your self-pity won't fix what was done, nor will it help us to find the lad. Nor to find the lass, which you said is to be our priority, if I remember correctly. And Kíli survived the poisoning, so, just shut up, will you?"

Fast as a snake, Thorin's hands were on Bilbo's cheeks, forcing him to look into his eyes. The hobbit had seen the shine of madness in those eyes before, and was relieved to see it wasn't there now. Just worry, sadness, and regret. If those callused hands left the feel of the stone on his face, he would mind it later. Or not at all.

"He did. But not thanks to me. It was Tauriel who saved his life."

"Yes, that's it. And he lived to see Erebor retaken, and you as its rightful king. And now we'll find him, and it will be all right again."

Thorin could almost laugh at Bilbo's optimism, but only a bitter chuckle left his mouth as he lowered his hands from the hobbit's face.

"He lived to see me mad with gold sickness. He lived to see me shame our name by denying Bard and his people what was their right."

"Yes, but you overcame it, didn't you? Because it is not in your blood. It was just what you said, a sickness. It is over now."

"Over… If my madness is truly over, how did I fall for the Council's pressure? I'm not strong enough, Bilbo. I failed Kíli. He'll never forgive me."

The hobbit suppressed a knot in his throat at the sight of Thorin so unusually frail and exposed. He was not used to see the strong dwarf so dismayed, not outside the heat of battle. It was unsettling.

"Thorin… The lad has a good heart. He won't deny forgiveness once you talk to him, once you… show him your true self. It might even be good for his rulership, to know sometimes even a king stumbles. We're not perfect, none of us. Don't carry this weight on your shoulders."

"You're too kind, my dear Bilbo. You forgave me and assume Kíli will, too. But our family is too stubborn, too proud…"

"If you are not too proud to acknowledge your own fault, he will not be too proud to forgive you."

"I can only hope you are right."

"I usually am, in what regards to Durin's line, if I am so bold to state it."

"Proud hobbit."

"Stubborn dwarf."

This line granted a small smile to form on Thorin's face, even if it didn't reach his eyes. Bilbo felt better for him.

"I should keep you closer to me. It would prevent several disasters."

"I would love to." Bilbo sighed. "But my place is in the Shire, you know."

"Is it? What will you do if your courting my sister works?"

Now Bilbo was stuck, and he knew it. Having Dís visiting him in the Shire or visiting her in the Blue Mountains was one thing, but how would they work things out if they were to be more than good neighbours? They didn't talk about it yet, and Thorin's question was due.

"I… I don't know. I hope she'll find Bag End worthy of her presence, but now that you asked, I wonder if it is really fit for a princess. I… I must ask her. If she doesn't deem it fit... I don't know what I'll do." An idea occurred to him. "What would you advise? You know her far better than me."

Thorin considered the hobbit from head to toe and back. What ran behind his blue eyes was yet to be known, but Bilbo felt a shudder.

"I don't know about Dís… but I would deem Bag End fit, if it were to become a place for me."

"Oh."

Bilbo didn't know what to do with that answer, and the next comment confused him even more.

"Me and my sister have… the same tastes for a lot of things, if you take my meaning."

He didn't, or didn't want to, take the meaning, and tried his best to ignore what went unsaid.

"So… you think she would like to live in Bag End? Of course we could travel to Blue Mountains frequently, or even live part time in each place."

Thorin answered with another question.

"Would _you_ like to live part time in Erebor?"

"What?"

"Thorin King!" A man from Dale rushed to the stone outcrop they were resting on, interrupting the awkward dialogue. "We found tracks!"

Thorin stood up at once, ready to follow said tracks. Bilbo was at his side, expectant.

"Horse or pony?" The dwarf asked, eager to know to whom the tracks could lead.

The answer was short and alarming.

"Orcs!"


	25. Regrets

Helo, dearest readers, things are a bit sad, but maybe our oblivious idiots are starting to get some clue on their feelings.

**lovecastle99**, thre's more to come!  
**pallysd'Artagnan**, it was not the tracks they wanted to find, but maybe they can lead to more than they expect...  
**Nenithiel**, thank you so much for following and binge reading!  
**salwyn77**, few things are certain is life, but that Kíli is bound to find trouble is one of them!

=^.^=

The dwarf finished his bowl of stew, cleansed in with a bit of bread and put it aside, noticing Tilda barely touched her own food, eyes lost in the flames of their small camp. Where it another times, he would gladly offer to finish her bowl for her, but it was not the matter now.

"Tilda." He called, and then again, a little louder, when no answer came. "Tilda. Are you all right?"

"What?" She glanced up at him, startled. "Sorry, I was… thinking…"

He nodded, acknowledging her need to think but steady in caring for her nourishment.

"Ain't you hungry?" She looked at the bowl in her hands as if it was a novelty, not something she had been fidgeting with for the larger part of an hour. "What bothers you? You've been quiet for some hours already, and I… I'm kind of missing your voice."

The twinkle in his eyes had the purpose of lightening her mood, but he couldn't deny himself his words had a measure of truth.

"I think… I think today was the first time I delved deeper in all that happened, or didn't happen, actually, because I… ran away… and the whys and the hows and…"

She stirred the food in her bowl, searching for words that would clear her mind instead of dumbing it and making her run in circles as it happened all day long.

Kíli took the bowl from her hands, putting it aside and sitting cross-legged in front of her, letting Tilda play with his fingers instead of the food.

"You can talk to me about it, you know. Our situation isn't that different, after all."

The young woman considered his words, consciously, and at another level took in his stance, the rumbling tone of his voice, the openness of his gaze. Opposite to the judging eyes she would expect from anyone out of Lake Town. She breathed deep and opened her heart.

"Da must be at a dire situation to have done this. Even in our poorest days, he would never… never do something that would hurt us in anyway…" Kíli mentally exchanged the last phrase for _never sell us away_, but bit his tongue, unwilling to make her more revolted. "I… I'm not very much into politics, albeit he's making us to have classes with wiser people. By the way, did you know Mister Balin teaches us diplomacy?"

Kili uplifted his brows, curious.

"No, I didn't. Are relations between Erebor and Dale this good, then?"

"I don't know. If they were this good, we wouldn't need diplomacy classes, would we?"

He snorted, amused, and Tilda couldn't refrain her own giggle. Soon her eyes sombered again, and Kíli's fingers had all her attention once more.

"I know alliances are made, and marriages are often decided on what's better for trade, defence and so on. Sigrid married like it, and was even afraid of her husband and first, because he's, well, I don't know if you've seen him, but he's quite a huge man… But he is a good man, they at least knew each other for almost a year before the arrangement was made." Kíli heard and nodded. He too knew stories like this. Only wasn't comfortable with being part of one. "But what Da chose for me… Kíli, I can't possibly marry a decrepit eighty-eight years old bachelor, can I?"

The number stuck him, too much coincidence to be left alone.

"What's the problem with an eighty-eight years old bachelor? I think I'm a perfectly marriable eighty-eight years old bachelor, or would be, if I weren't a widower, thank you very much!"

His amused tone took away all possible seriousness of his words, effective in making her giggle again.

"The day you convince me you are eighty-eight years old is yet to come, Kíli son of Dís!"

"Good diplomacy classes, but terrible dwarven history and nature classes, I'd say, Tilda daughter of Bard the Dragonslayer!"

The mention of her father's name brought the seriousness back to her face.

"Doesn't matter anymore. I abandoned Da and all duties he counted on me to perform. All classes he provided me are wasted. Everything he expected from me…"

Tears welled from her eyes, and Kíli went on his knees to get closer and be able to reach her face and dry them. The understanding in his hazel-green eyes was all it took for the dam to break, and she wept freely on his shoulder, grabbing his forearms as a life buoy.

Her words and her sobs, the similarity of their situations, and the truth that he was a deserter too, someone who forsook his people and ignored his place, his responsibilities, throwing away everything invested in his training for rulership… It hit him hard. So hard his hands caressing her back were not just to soothe her, but himself too. His comforting words, assuring her it would be all right in due time, were directed at his own fears as well as to hers. No more Kíli son of Dís, the reckless nephew of Thorin Oakenshield, but Kíli the Runaway, the Irresponsible Brat who threw his duties on others' shoulders. Not a beautiful name to embellish his tombstone.

"They had not the right to impose it on you. There's a limit to what duty can claim from you."

"I think so too, Kíli, but… but I know I disappointed Da nonetheless. How will I learn to live with this shame?"

"I… I don't know. I'll have to learn it myself, I deem."

Soothing circles drawn on her back with his hands, her fingers on his forearms like a kitten pawing a pillow to sleep.

"Tilda…"

"Hmm?"

"It might be better if you lay down to sleep. You'll wake up stiff if you don't."

"Oh…" She conceded in a sleepy voice, realising he should be uncomfortable for being so long in that position. "Sorry, you must be in pain…"

"No, not really, I feel no pain after my legs go numb…"

"Wha… Kíli, I'm so sorry, I…"

"Hush, I was kidding. Now go to your bedroll. I'll keep watch."

"Wake me up when you're tired, will ya?"

"I will." He lied.

The woman took her bedroll and spread it near the fire, her head close to Kíli's once again crossed legs.

"Good night, Kíli."

"Good night, Tilda. Sleep well."

She closed her eyes and dropped into sleep almost immediately, the calm rhythm of her breath showing nothing of the turmoil in her chest.

Kíli watched, ears keen on any sound from the forest, eyes set on her peaceful face, pondering how would it be like to watch that face for a longer time, for longer days, for longer years. And why couldn't the bride arranged for him be as sweet, witty and also fierce, like Tauriel.

Or like Tilda.


	26. Hunters and Prey

**Warning**: It's not only Kíli who is coming to acknowledge his feelings…

**pallysd'Artagnan**, orcs might be the lesser of their problems in the near future…  
**Nenithiel**, thankfully dreams use to show what one refuses to see with waking eyes!  
**Jilba25**, not only him!  
**Celebrisilweth**, how they'll handle reality is quite another problem…  
**TheOtherWritingGirl**, they're oblivious idiots, and not the only ones.  
Many thanks to **Falcongyr**, **Katt8500** and **Littlelottie8886** for following and favoriting!  
**=^.^=**

"We didn't have report of orcs around for a long time. Whatever the White Council did in Dol Guldur, it worked for years. What could have changed now?"

Bard's questioned mostly to himself, but Thorin was puzzled just like his neighbour king, and ostensibly more bitter. Orcs were a curse to Durin's line, Azog and Bolg being just the fresher reminder of it, so far. While other clans fell to the charms of Sauron and his foul master, the sons of the first father resisted, and suffered for it.

"I don't like this elvish and wizardish White Council at all. Never heard of someone of our races to be invited to one of their meetings, as if our fates weren't part of this world at all, or had no importance. They remember our existence only when it fits their convenience."

"And we don't even know what their convenience is." Complained Bard.

"True."

The searching party had been restless since the sight of orc tracks, undoubtedly. It suggested a route coming from north and heading to southwest, which was strange, considering it would mean them coming from the heart of the elven kingdom. Dealings with the elves had been quite good in the last years, as far as possible (which meant good trade with Dale and Lake Town and no open aggression with Erebor, including free pass through the old Dwarf road), and none of the current kings of dwarf and of men had reason to suspect treason on the elven king's part, which led to the hypothesis of Thranduil's people either not being aware of orc activity or unable to stop them, both scenarios horrible enough without the current predicament both mortal kings were facing.

Looking for runaway Kíli had been forgotten since the dwarves knew about Tilda's kidnapping, and now even the importance of her kidnapping was lessened by the discovery of orc activity. One could negotiate with a regular kidnapper, but an ordinary kidnapper could be killed (or worse) by an orc pack, and so the younger Bardling. Albeit still dark, still in need of repairing, so to say, Mirkwood was getting lighter and its people, stronger; the Dwarven Road that crossed it was deemed once again a safe road, caravans crossing it with no more trouble than a bunch of robbers once in a while, nothing a regular escort couldn't deal with. But an orc pack…

"We must decide on looking for your daughter or hunting this pack."

"You seem to have forgotten your heir."

Thorin squeezed his eyes and tried to dispel an impending migraine by sheer power of will.

"Kíli is capable of fending for himself." He considered his words and completed. "Mostly."

"But and orc pack…"

"An orc pack would be disastrous both to the kidnapper or anyone traveling the forest as a whole or the Dwarven Road in particular, immediately, be it my nephew or anyone else. We don't know if they're really heading there to, but it would be a fair guess if they intend for the Misty Mountains, where we know they infest. Whatever they aim to, these orc tracks mean anyone in the surroundings is in danger. From my previous experience, I'd say hunt the orcs, else you'll be trying to fix one issue and when you least expect it, there'll be a bunch of orcs messing everything around and preventing you from fixing whatever you were trying to."

"For all it pains me, I must agree."

Bard fingered the string of his bow, anxious to put it to good use. But there was no enemy, no shadow he could shoot an arrow at; instead, the anguish of not knowing what was happening to his daughter. At least she didn't simply run away like Thorin's nephew… And she fought bravely. All evidence in her chambers pointed to struggle, from the broken furniture to the smear of blood in the windowsill. It pained Bard to consider it could be his little daughter's blood, but a part of him knew how fierce Tilda could be, and that she had training enough to offer resistance to a regular man. The dagger she used to keep under her pillow had been found somewhere on the floor, smeared with blood. It helped him to sleep at night.

Thorin brought him back to reality with an undeniable offer.

"Then, let's hunt some orc."

Little did Bard know of how much his daughters were thick as thieves, neither of how skilled in the art of deceit Sigrid had become whilst living in Gondor's court…

**=^.^= xxx-xxx =^.^=**

It was late afternoon when they took the old forest road again, and they decided to ride at least a couple of miles before camping. They would be protected by the large trees, even if Kíli didn't consider trees to be his friends. Anyway, it would be harder to be seen if they camped out of the main track, and so they did.

"Should we make a fire?" Asked Tilda, searching her saddlebag for provisions.

"It is getting cold at night. We had no notice of pursuers, so it may be safe."

Her little cooking set was soon put close to the happy bonfire Kíli lightened after they both cleansed the ground from loose leaves and twigs that could allow the fire to spread beyond the boundaries of their camp. Water and dried provisions found their way into the small pot and waited to boil to make a wholesome soup, whilst horse and pony grazed the underbrush.

"May I put my sleeping roll beside yours? Only... Only to keep the warmth…"

Her shy question made Kíli to smile, and he lowered his own sleeping roll beside hers.

"We both need warmth. You…" A fingertip traced her eyebrow and then down her face, stopping just to play with her lower lip. "Children of Iluvatar have not the heat of Mahal's forge... I can… I may…"

Tilda could feel the skin of his finger warming her lip, and remembered how they shared warmth in other occasions. His skin was not just warmer than hers, it was like if someone feverish touched her. But with him, it felt good.

"Aye. It is cold and…"

If it was him to approach her or if it was her that got closer to him, she didn't care; their lips touched like she had fancied several times before; but, unlike what she feared, they didn't split apart as if something wrong was being done. It felt good to touch and to be touched, and her fresh lips lent him the pleasure of novelty.

"Do you want me to heat you…?"

Kíli's question was half a plea and half a promise, and Tilda took both.

"Kíli, I…"

Any possible answer was drowned in a furious kiss that took her by surprise but immediately made her sure it was all she wanted in this world. His lips and tongue were warmer than hers, like his finger that just touched her lips, and made her consider if all of his body was warmer than hers. The perspective was entertaining.

The furs of the sleeping rolls were stretched on the ground before she knew what was happening, and they felt comfortable under her body. Feeling relaxed, Kíli's hands caressing her body were more than welcomed.

"I won't do anything you don't..."

"I want it! Kíli, I want it, please…"

He closed his eyes, hiding from her the shine of a thousand stars as his lips traced kisses from her mouth to her chin and throat and down and down and down…

"I'm not like Men…"

"I don't want Men, I want you!"  
Tilda opened her eyes with a start, sitting up in her sleeping roll in the middle of the night. Kíli was watching the darkness at the other side of the fire, bow and quiver at hand, as usual.

_"__I'll better stop having these dreams if we're to be friends until the other end of this forest." _Tilda thought quietly, forcing herself to close her eyes again. It would be a long night.


	27. Assorted Fires

Sorry for the delay, real life claims my attention more than I'd like.  
Special thanks to **Nenithiel, jilba25, ThatOtherWriterGirl,** **pallysd'Artagnan** and** salwyn77 **for the hilarious reviews, our lovely idiots deserve it!

=^.^=

Tilda woke up to the chirping of birds, confused. Usually she would wake long before sunrise, years of training in the healing halls ingrained in her internal clock. Thirst parched her lips, and she stood up to fetch her waterskin. Dizziness overcame her, and she sat down again to prevent a fall.

Only then she noticed her mug beside her sleeping furs, a lukewarm concoction begging to be drunk. Her thirst prompted her to drink without care about what was brewed in it. Hasty gulps graced her with the knowledge that it had willow bark, lots of willow bark, making it bitter enough to shame a wormwood potion used to get rid of parasites.

Kíli was nowhere to be seen.

"Whatever prank he had in mind this time, I'll make him pay dearly for it…"

She mumbled as she tried again to stand up, slowly this time to prevent another wave of dizziness. Her success was awarded with a soft neigh from Broda. Tripsy was grazing close to him, which indicated the dwarf should not be far, at least.

Her waterskin had been replenished, and she drank eagerly, both to quench her thirst and to wash down the strong taste of willow bark. Her joints felt sore, and her eyes felt like sand had ingrained behind them. So, she had gotten ill. All she didn't need right now in her runaway life. She let herself collapse on her sleeping furs once more.

"G'morning, sunshine!"

Kíli greeted her from the opposite direction from the campfire, fast steps on the brink of a run until he was in front of Tilda, arms full with assorted leaves and boughs bearing fruit. A couple ptarmigans dangled from his belt, vouching his bow had been put to good use. They had traveled days long without fresh meat, and it would be a welcome change.

"Morning. What is… all this?" She gestured at his gathering results. "You didn't wake me for my watch."

He knelt down, putting the green stuff beside him and taking her hands in his. They felt strangely cold to her touch. She looked up at him and his worried eyes bored into hers.

"I tried to. I called you and you didn't stir, so I…" His mind ran fast over the truths he could say yet didn't dare. _So I was bold enough to touch your cheek whilst you were asleep and wouldn't reject my approach. So I took the chance and caressed your face. So I came close to your face and felt your breath on my skin. So I took advantage of you being asleep and spent the better part of an hour just looking at you and wishing you were a dwarrowdam, but not really, else you'd have a beard hiding your beautiful face._ "I got worried and felt your brow, it didn't seem as cool as humans uses to feel, then I made willow bark tea and went to fetch some herbs."

"I've got a fever, I think. Thank you for the tea." He smiled broadly at her thanks. "It was quite strong, though."

His smiled faded as fast as it had shown and Kíli stammered some excuse, to what Tilda felt she had to fix it right away.

"You don't have to know the precise dosage of stuff, silly. You're not a healer!"

"I'm sorry anyway. I just wanted to take care of you and…" He turned his eyes down to the things he gathered. "Here, I found elderberry for the fever, it's sweeter than willow bark, Amad always used it for me and Fíli; and white mallow in case your throat is sore; and I found some lemons, some people say it's juice makes you healthier. And some berries, too."

The woman looked at the assortment of medicine the dwarf had gathered; he had no healer training, of that she was sure, Óin never mentioned Kíli as his pupil. When they chatted about her own training, he expressed surprise at simple things she mentioned, making her giggle at his ignorance.

"Kíli, I… Thank you again, what else can I say? How did you know what to…"

He noticed her confusion and assured her with a smile.

"I was the problem child, remember? Born too early, always too thin, always nose deep in trouble and mayhem… I was bound to catch a cold or a fever now and then. And I have good memory, that's all."

Tilda picked some berries from the stem he brought and smiled in thanks and acceptance of his care. She could get used to it.

=^.^= =^.^=

The ride had been hard and long, everybody intent in following the orc tracks. It was quite different, to search for hidden clues and raging across a clear path. Bilbo believed he was used to ride after the journey from the Shire to Erebor, but it had been a leisure walk, nothing compared to the fury Thorin was using to lead them now. He was sure they covered more of the Old Forest Road that day than in a whole week with Dwalin and Kíli. At least, that was what his aching muscles claimed.

By the way of Dwalin, it was him who tried to keep Thorin at a sane pace, unsuccessfully, and now pouted at the edge of the firelight. For once, Bilbo could relate.

"Feels like chasing chicken, huh?"

The hobbit didn't hear Bofur approaching and got startled.

"What?"

The dwarf with the weird hat stuffed his pipe, purposefully, and offered the pipe weed pouch as a token of peace.

"One day ye're coming to a party in Erebor; the next, ye're running after Kíli; before ye can find a hoof print in the right direction, whoops! Go find the lass; but no, wait: let's hunt orcs." Bofur illustrated the change of goals by juggling his pipe from hand to hand. "Pretty wild goose chase!"

Bilbo would find it amusing if it didn't depict exactly how he felt. And _not_ about riding…

"Yeah…" Bilbo sighed, unhappy.

"But then, what would life be if one couldn't look around now and then?"

"What do you mean?"

"Ye see, it's like mining. If ye follow a quartz vein, ye'll get quartz, but when ye blink, whoops! There's copper! And if it weren't good enough, blink again and there is gold!" The miner's eyes shone at the mention of his favorite metal. "And ye know what? Sometimes ye'll find a quartz vein while mining granite, ordinary granite fer building Men's houses."

"And so…?" Bilbo asked, dubious on what in goodness his friend meant with all that ramble.

"Don't ye see the beauty it is? Ye go mining dull granite and end up with gold in yer hands. And the best part, ye _still_ have all the granite, quartz and copper ye mined in the process."

"Fascinating." Said Bilbo, not feeling it.

"Exactly!" Replied Bofur, excited with his own dander. "That's why I wonder, once we put our hands on the filthy orcs, what more will we have gained?"

The hobbit chuckled.

"Not many wounds, I hope."

"Nah, don't worry about wounds. Wounds leave battle scars, and do ye know? Battle scars are badges of honor. Never forget it."

Bofur stretched, emptied the pipe to stow it in his pocket and stood up;

"Well, that was a nice chat, Bilbo old fellow."

"Yeah… I guess…" Mumbled Bilbo, pondering if saying half a dozen words while Bofur talked non-stop should be accounted as a chat.

His eyes wandered from the forest to the camp fire, and to those around it, and his mind wandered too. It was not the same as mining, as actively pursuing a prize, but from the day those dwarves set foot in Bag End and rid his pantry, he had found more and more that he wasn't aware it was possible to be in his life.

First of all, adventure; then, courage; in the heart of the Misty Mountains, a magic ring; at the official end of the journey, richess; more meaningful than any of that, true friendship.

Watching certain sapphire eyes staring at him from across the fire, he was sure he didn't set foot out of his round green door expecting to find it, yet it was undoubtedly there: love.

"I thought the ones on watch should be observant of the forest around us, not of the middle of the camp."

The harsh voice in his ear made Bilbo shudder, coming back to reality.

"Dwalin."

The hobbit turned his attention to the burly dwarf at his side. To punch him would be improper, so he settled for cross his arms and fume at him.

"Unless ye weren't on watch."

"I wasn't." He admitted.

"If so, what worries ye? Ye can't hide the crease on your forehead so easily."

Bilbo considered the warrior, knowing he was much more than the harsh surface he displayed around. After all, he was one who faced Thorin in his gold madness, as more than a subject, but as friend and a brother in arms.

"Have you ever…" Bilbo struggled for an allegory. He found it in food, as a proper hobbit should. "Did you ever have to choose from one dessert or another? Like, you are in a big banquet and you must choose between pudding and blackberries pie?"

Dwalin regarded him with curiosity.

"Maybe."

"What did you do?"

"I took one and then the other."

"But what if you couldn't? What if you had to help yourself of dessert only once and then never more?"

Dwalin smiled at the apparent dilemma, much to Bilbo's distress.

"Then I'd take some of each and be done with it. Who could stop me from having what I wanted?"

"Oh. None, I guess."

"And you?"

"Me, what?"

"What would you do, if you had to… choose desserts?"

Bilbo knew Dwalin was no fool, yet he hoped he didn't see his true dilemma. Actually, he wished someone who understood _did_ see, and helped him out of it. Without breaking any heart.

"I think… I think I'm a hobbit and my tableware isn't fit for fancy desserts. I… I would be content with what fits in my little dessert plate."

Dwalin shook his head, bemused. His eyes wandered to the other side of the camp fire, where people close to his heart chatted lightly.

"Bilbo, Bilbo… No wonder Thorin calls ye a fool now and then. Like when ye gave up yer one-fourteenth share of the treasure and contented yerself with just a pair of chests from it."

"It would be more trouble than profit, really."

He ignored his statement and resumed.

"Yer problem, Bilbo, is that ye don't consider alternatives. Ye like blackberry pie? Great, have it. Yer mouth waters at the thought of pudding? All right, have it too. It's that simple."

"Dwalin, my… my little dessert plate wouldn't hold both at once."

"Nonsense. Ye can always use a larger plate."

"A larger…"

Dwalin's laughed and left for the camp fire, leaving behind a perplexed hobbit. Confusticate and bebother those dwarves!


	28. A Voice Like Spring

**Long A/N**: Dearest readers, I'm sorry for delaying the posting two times this month; I had a couple cosplays to finish and it demanded an insane amount of time.  
Special thanks to **Celebrisilweth** – Kíli is finally putting two and two together, he needs just one more push; Bilbo took some steps but now he's in doubt if he made the right choice; **Pallysd'Artagnan** – sometimes this is all that matters, to do what one is able to; all Bofur wants is to see his friend happy, he just doesn't know how to help him; **Nenithiel** – beware, still waters run deep; **Mizz Alec Volturi** – sometimes a drop of bitter is necessary for one to understand sweetness; **Mustard Lady** – I wish I could answer you line by line, I'll probably do it by PM; I liked the title "King of Brood" you bestowed upon Thranduil, it really fits! Care if I use it in the story?  
Welcome, new readers **Mizz Alec Volturi**, **Mustard Lady** and **maemeia**, I hope you like what is yet to come!  
By the way of '_what is yet to come_', I realize I should have named this fic "_In Dreams_", after Howard Shore's song. There is much that is shown and that happens in dreams, I hope it doesn't bore or annoy you. Yet, no dream is fulfilled if one doesn't keep the faith, I guess. And here we go!

=^.^= =^.^= =^.^=

The barrel crashed against another rock, bounced and sent Kíli whirling in the current. The river wouldn't be an easy one in the best of days, and that one definitively was one of the worst in his life.  
His leg throbbed, each jolt teaching him a new meaning of pain, until the water finally seeped in enough for the cold to numb him, clattering teeth preventing the dwarf from calling for help.

He closed his eyes, hoping it would help him not to throw up, hoping the cold would finally take its toll and allow him to rest. Rest like stone, at the bottom of the river. The only way for his pain to end, all of it

"_Kíli_!"

A voice urged him awake, bringing back the pain and the cold. Couldn't she allow him to die and be free of pain?

"_Kíli! Kíli, please_!"

The voice insisted, and every time she said his name, the pain doubled.

"_Kíli! Ilúvatar, Aulë, help me_…"

She pleaded to the gods, the Creator and the Maker, but the pain spread from his thigh to his chest, and now his lungs hurt from lack of air. When did he stop breathing?

"_Kíli! Ah! Thank the Powers_…"

He opened his eyes and the forest green ones of his beloved one greeted him with relief. The pain left him at the sight of the she-elf, and he could finally breathe, slow and steady breaths to calm his shaking body.

"_You scared me. Don't do that again._"

Her voice was a bit strange, a higher pitch than what he was used to, sounding foreign to his ears. But then she placed her hand on his leg, spreading warmth and light where only a minute ago only pain resided.

"_You are cured. Don't act as if you don't know it_."

Tauriel's voice was her own again, and he pleaded, reaching out a hand with the purpose of touching her face.

"I'll never be cured with you away from me."

She didn't move for him to reach her, and he resented it.

"_You must. I need you to be whole._"

"I can't! Not without you…"

"_You must! They'll never allow_…"

"What?" He questioned at her fading voice. "Who won't allow what?"

The elf removed her hand from his leg, nervous eyes of someone who said too much.

"_I'll never be allowed to wait for someone who isn't whole. Who doesn't trust our paths will be one again. Who's unfaithful_."

"Unfaith…"

"_I said too much. I must go_."

She rose and walked away, leaving behind a confused and crying dwarf. Someone helped him to sit up and caressed his head to rest on a comforting shoulder, gentle pats on his back reminding him he wasn't alone.

"Thank the Powers, Kíli, you scared me so much…"

The dwarf recognized the voice as belonging to its owner, and opened his eyes to a worried Tilda. Confused, the awakening of a nightmare leading him to a bad dream, how could he be sure this wasn't another kind of dream? His eyes showed his uncertainty. Somehow, she understood.

"You were trashing in your sleep. Grabbing your leg. Then you stopped to breathe. I called you but you didn't wake up." The young woman touched his face, ignoring his short beard wasn't worthy a dwarf. "Then you calmed down, for a while, but then…"

Tilda dried a tear from Kíli's cheek, seemingly unimpressed by his weakness. The dwarf swallowed hard and turned his face away, hot with shame.

"I'm sorry I made you witness this… I'm a sorry excuse of a dwarf, I… Be sure my people aren't as weak and pathetic as I've shown myself, I…"

"Pardon me?" She gently brought his face back so she could see his eyes. "I don't know what you were trashing about, but I'm sure it's no sign of weakness. Da dreams about dragons once in a while, Sigrid has nightmares about orcs falling down from the rooftops, Bain sees himself surrounded by water and fire, and does it make them pathetic or weak? I beg your pardon, but I say no, Kíli."

"But…" How could he explain without offending her? Last time he misunderstood something about her people it made her so angry it took a lot of explanation to mend things. "My family never talks about it. Not the dragon, not the defiler, the battles, nothing. If it weren't for my Uncle's oaken shield, one would never tell he was at the Battle of Azanulbizar. He never has nightmares about it that make him wake up screaming like the idiot I am."

Talking about his family didn't help his feelings to settle down, but at least diverted his mind from his own trauma to someone else's story, and helped him to stop his tears.

Tilda wiped away any remaining wetness from his face, a knowing smile on her lips.

"You know, you could do just like them. Although I don't believe it would really help."

"How can I do like them?" He asked, confused. "I can't prevent myself from having nightmares."

"But you can lie." Her words shocked him, and his face and stance showed it. "Do you _really_ believe they don't have bad dreams? The have a heart just like yours. Why wouldn't they feel like you do?"

Her words made sense, and something clicked in place, tying loose ends that bothered him for a long while, even if he himself tucked them in deep recesses of his mind to keep them out of the way.

He could not really know about Thorin. He always had his own bedroom, and it was not unusual for him to sleep in a cot at the forge. Patrol nights had him keeping watch rather than sleeping. Even in their journey to reclaim the Mountain he could barely remember seeing his uncle asleep, and he used to stay away from the party rather than close to the fire.

Fíli _had_ nightmares when they were children. They slept in the same bedroom, even in the same bed when he was little and the winter was hard, so as to share warmth where it lacked firewood. Fíli remembered the death of their father, and it plagued his dreams. He remembered hushing his big brother back to sleep, not really sure of how to do it, but humming lullabies used to work.

After the Battle of Five Armies they both were so busy recovering from their near-death experiences that if one or both of them woke up screaming it could always be blamed on pain.

Was the stoic demeanour of his people just a façade? Could it be that someone like Dwalin had nightmares? Did Balin have fears? What traumas haunted Dáin Ironfoot? One thing was to know Bifur carried sequels of Azanulbizar in his head, literally; other completely different was to imagine cheerful Bofur choking on tears brought by terrible memories.

His eyes were lost in the fire as his mind was lost in his thoughts. Tilda's gentle touch to his hand brought him back to reality.

"Are you feeling better? Will you be all right?"

"Wha…? Aye, I am." He considered his answer for a moment. "As much as I might. Thank you."

He was sincere, she could tell. As much as one might may not be one hundred per cent all right, but who could, after Smaug and the Battle? She understood.

"You're welcome."

"I… I'll take watch the remaining of the night. Sleep. I'm no healer but I know your body needs rest to fight what remains of your illness."

To his surprise, Tilda just reached for her cloak and huddled against him, resting her head against his shoulder and gazing at the flames.

"You're not over the fever yet, it was only one day with your medicines. You should sleep, you know."

"I'm too startled to sleep. And I'm a morning person, you know."

"You should try anyhow. We have a long day tomorrow. Come on, lay down."

With some nudging he managed to make her to lay down, using his leg as a pillow. At last the crackling of the burning wood and Kíli's soft humming of a dwarven lullaby sent Tilda to sleep, leaving the prince to his own thoughts. Which reminded him…

"And what nightmares plague your sleep, sweet daughter of Man, I wonder…?"


	29. A Strained Day

**A/N:** Hello, dearest readers, sorry for being so late, but here it goes, better late than later.  
Thank you very much for the continued support, **Mizz Alec Volturi**, **Nenithiel**, **Mustard Lady**, **Celebrisilweth** and **pallysd'Artagnan**.  
And welcome, new followers **Sakura Dragomir**, **Bonnie Celt** and **It Is Life**, I'd love to hear from you!

**=^.^=**

The searching party was unusually noisy that day, or at least so it was in Bilbo's ears. The Rohirrim seemed more and more depressed under the eaves of the dark forest, used to the wide plains as they were, and started a game of songs to change the mood. Bard pushed the troop forward, eager to finish the orc issue and go after his daughter again, and had to raise his voice over the fair-haired group's singing. The dwarves took wages on how long would it take for Thorin to snap. And the hobbit couldn't fathom how all this could be happening when they _knew_ there were orcs ahead.

Dís had been riding at her brother's side for most of the morning, which annoyed Bilbo without a reason (that's what his reasonable side said in his head and was whacked still by some other side he tried to ignore). The ride the day before had been long and hard, but not _noisy_. He rode close to Dís and Fíli and Thorin most of the time, and conversation amongst them had been quiet and purposeful. After the last night's conversations raved his mind, the last thing he needed was unnecessary chatter around him and the people he cared most _not_ around him. He wondered if this was what was called _jealousy_.

As if sensing his thoughts, Dís looked back at him over her shoulder, a smug smile on her lips. Why did she have to have a smile so alike Thorin's? Her beard was thinner, softer, as expected from a dwarrowdam, but her hair matched his rich mane, dark waves of luxury in Bilbo's wildest dreams. With streaks of silver, but the hobbit didn't care about the presence or lack of gold or silver or jewels, as long as the offspring of Thráin was in his reach.

Dís had eased her mount's pace, and soon Bilbo reached her side. His smile didn't reach his eyes, and she noticed it.

"Not the best of our days, huh?"

"My plans after reaching Erebor didn't include this outing, I must confess. I'd rather have plenty of time to… tell you more about the ridiculous courting habits of hobbits, yet…" He took in a deep breath, pondering how much to say and how much to conceal. "Did I tell you, Dís, I really got to know Thorin during our journey from the Shire to Erebor? Of course, we didn't have a chance to get to know each other before the quest, but…"

"But to travel alongside someone is different from sharing a tea table in the peace of one's own hearth." She completed where he lacked words. "No place for pleasantries, no time to beat around the bush. When you know your troop might be in danger - and to be on the road is always to be in danger – if someone shouts _duck_, you duck; you see a shadow, you alert everybody around you. You confide in your fellows, least you die. To be on the road is different. I know."

Of course she should know. Her life had been short of miserable most of it, since Smaug's attack to Erebor when she was just ten years old, to settling in the Blue Mountains, more than thirty years later. And, obviously, to settle a whole people somewhere didn't mean that somewhere was perfectly comfortable and cozy from day one.

"Dís, I..." He noticed her jaw took over a squarer setting, and he knew he was responsible for it. Stupidly responsible for it. "You know, sometimes I ponder… my people has a very short memory, for all we claim to keep our family trees as treasures and records of meaningful events. We hobbits just try to bury things that don't glorify us very deep, in Michel Delving mathom-house or in our own mathom-rooms. Not that everybody has a mathom-room, because the most usual is to people give mathom away in their own birthday parties, of course. Because when you receive a gift at everyone's birthday party, you're bound to have lots of mathom, even if you don't acknowledge it. I don't give my mathoms away, I don't recall if I ever told you this. Because every mathom given away _has_ some meaning to someone, or had, and we just don't know what it was, because, eventually, the owner of the mathom passed away, sometime prior..."

She looked at the hobbit as if he had grown a second head, for all his chatter.

"…And so…?"

He noticed her bewilderment and how much his line of thought led him somewhere else from where he intended.

"Oh, sorry, Dís, I rambled."

"Of this I'm sure."

"What I mean to say is… We hobbits didn't sprout out from flower fields in the Shire, even if we believe Yavanna was responsible for our coming to be. Maybe we _did_ sprout out..."

"Bilbo, you are digressing again."

"Bebother me!" He cursed, if to curse it could be called. "Yes, I did, sorry, Dís, this is the complete opposite of having a nice chat in a hobbit hole accompanied by tea and cinnamon rolls. Will you forgive me?"

Bilbo's puppy eyes were almost comparable to Kíli's, and Dís was unable to deny him anything. She just shook her head, helpless.

"Just ramble on, Bilbo dear."

He took a moment to take in the fact that she called him _dear_, and resumed, taking in a breath to gather his thoughts and _not_ ramble again.

"My people are fond of talking about when Marcho and Blanco of the Fallohide clan crossed the Brandywine river and founded the Shire. It was a feat, all right, going to the King of Arthedain in Fornost to grant permission for it, but… None talks about the time between the crossing of the Misty Mountains and this feat. I myself only got to know about it in Elrond's library, and not even the Tháin, my cousin Fortinbras II, ever heard about it."

"So…" Dís approached the issue cautiously. "You hobbits had a time of wandering, too? Just like us Longbeards?"

"That's it!" Bilbo was thrilled by what he had to tell her. "Between the crossing of the Misty Mountains and the crossing of the Brandywine, my people wandered more than five hundred years! And none wants to acknowledge it!"

She considered this bit of information, seeing Bilbo under another light. And he being excited about it gave her even more insight on the nature of her favourite hobbit.

"Which makes you being a Baggins of Bag End…"

"Nothing! Nothing at all!"

Dís was really perplexed by now. She knew _being a Baggins of Bag End _had been one of his syllogisms to oppose taking part in the quest to reclaim Erebor from Smaug. And now he…

"Bag End doesn't define you anymore?"

Bilbo pondered her words for a little while.

"Bag End is part of my story, the story of my parents. But I'm more than my parents. I'm my family, and my family is Baggins but also Took, the adventurous descendants of the Fallohide clan. I'm my family and also my people, and my people wandered centuries until able to settle. Which part of all this defines me?"

"I don't know. To me, or to you?"

"Both?" He teased.

Dís looked around, to be sure of the little privacy possible in such a situation.

"I'm sure of myself, and more than myself, if you ask me. And I don't need tags to know who or what I want."

"Dís…" Bilbo waited until she looked directly at him, as much as was possible riding ponies. "I'm not bound to a place anymore. I'm ready to share a tea in Bag End or a banquet in Erebor, or in Thorin's Halls in the Blue Mountains. Or a banquet in Bag End and a tea in Erebor, it doesn't matter. And to face everything the road between those places can offer, if only my humble hobbit hole is acceptable. If it isn't, you can juggle me from dwarven hall to dwarven hall as much as you desire, as long as I'm juggled by your hands."

In his eagerness to profess his feelings to Dís, Bilbo became mostly oblivious to his surroundings, confiding in her own attention to privacy. He realized his mistake a bit too late.

Thorin had receded his pony from the front position of the hunting party, the Powers knew since when, and was riding beside him now, opposite to Dís.

His deep rumbling voice echoed in Bilbo's chest, as usual, even if the hobbit refused to acknowledge the effects it had on him.

"Your hobbit hole is entirely acceptable, Bilbo. And don't be humble about it. Many a dwarf never had such a comfortable place to rest for a night."

Bilbo turned his face to Thorin, muddle-headed. It felt like every time he tried to take a step further with Dís, Thorin was there to embarrass if sensing the hobbit's discomfort, the dwarven king urged his pony forward, not before sending a dubious statement.

"I wouldn't mind a bit juggling myself, if my hands are as acceptable as your hobbit hole…"


	30. An Itch Where One Can't Scratch

**A.N.:** From here on you might get more chapters of Kíli & Tilda instead of the usual toggle between them and Bilbo. The clues are there for who wants to see them, anyway.  
Thanks for the continued support to **salwyn77**, **Mizz Alec Volturi**, **Celebrisilweth** and **That Other Writer Girl**, you're the best!

=^.^=

Tilda was sorting through her healer satchel, assessing how many doses of willow bark and elderberry she still had. Kíli had acquired her same fever, seemingly, but was less affected by it, showing just some runny nose and higher temperature. Advantages of being a dwarf, the woman mused, half envying his sturdiness.

Said sturdiness was only matched by his stubbornness, as he only conceded feeling unwell when he couldn't hide his shivers at midday. She knew the signs, and if she weren't also recovering from her own illness she would have noticed them the night before, when she tried to wake him up from his nightmare. But it was so cozy to sleep snuggled to him that his higher temperature had been just a plus to her comfort.

The object of her musings just came back from some scouting, his bow ready at hand but no game in sight. The forest was better than when the Company first crossed it, but still not fully healed, and its fauna resented it.

"You should rest, not wander around, Kíli."

He smiled at her admonishment.

"You told me chicken soup is medicine for our fever, I just tried to collect some components for your potion, my favorite healer."

"I'm not your favorite healer, I'm the only one you have around, silly."

"It's _Kíli_, not _silly_…"

She whacked his arm at the recurrent joke. Tilda was sure she would miss their jokes if they ever had to tread separate ways.

"Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!" He grabbed his arm where she hit him and rolled on the ground as if in great pain. "Help! I'm mortally wounded! I need a healer!"

Tilda took advantage of his antics to whack him again.

"And now? What do you need, you little piece of mischief?"

"Ouch!" He cried again. "I need a healer! I need…"

One swift move and he pulled Tilda down to him, making her to lose balance and fall, allowing him to tickle her under her armpits and down her sides.

"Hah!" She cried, laughing. "Stop! You brat!"

"I'll show you the little piece of mischief, you little mischievous lady!"

Kíli continued to tickle her mercilessly, Tilda squirming on the ground until she was out of breath.

"Stop! Hahah!"

"Yield!" He demanded, trying to cross her defences, namely her arms and kicking legs.

"Never!" She managed to cry between surges of laughter.

Kíli stopped for a moment, wrists held by her defending hands.

"Does it mean I'll have to tickle you forever?"

"No!" She giggled, between gasping breaths. "You just have to state…" She breathed again. "What you do need but a healer!"

It was a strange question, but it was the only escapade that occurred to her, given how their little battle began.

"What do I need…"

Her question, now deprived from his previous antics, and despite their little tickling war, made Kíli stop and consider, wrists still held tight by Tilda.

He didn't need much. Hardship in the Blue Mountains taught him one could live with little, and he was very capable of obtaining the little he needed, be it by hunting, forging, or working for someone else as an escort.

He missed his family and friends, but a family that tried to force a marriage on him, he was better off without. His closest friends, the Company, were ass and pants with Thorin, so it excluded them as something needed.

A healer was someone everybody needed now and then. His recent fever was just the proof of it. Even if he was capable of gathering some herbs and concoct some teas, if he were really ill, a healer would have to do it for him. Or if he were wounded like he was in the Battle of Five. By then he really needed a healer, but he had to acknowledge it was not enough to keep him alive. To make him _want_ to live.

There was Fíli. Of course he was healing too, his wound and fall bad enough that he would carry a limp for life. Yet, whenever they were awake at the same time, it was Fíli who anchored him, who didn't let him wander to the depths of his pain and forget himself there. Fíli was something apart from family. He was his _brother_, and despite suspecting he betrayed him as well, Kíli missed his brother dearly.

But is _to miss_ the same as _to need_?

Besides Fíli, he had had another person who granted his sanity during his recovery. By then she was no healer, and she was no family either; actually, she wasn't even a dwarf. Kíli looked down at the same wide blue eyes that frequently greeted him in the healing house of Erebor during those excruciating days. Always eager to hear a story, yet bringing her own books to read him fairy tales. Unable to move him due to his heavy built, but fast in fetching everything – anything! – he needed or fancied. She even held his hand when Óin or Hilda had to perform something painful; and held him close when he needed to cry.

Ten years ago he found someone he needed more than his own brother, and didn't acknowledge her for what she was. Because then she was only a child, but now…

"Kíli? Are you all right?"

His long silence was disturbing, moreover in the awkward position they were. Tilda's voice brought him back to present time and space, and he blinked, assessing their current situation. Kíli couldn't recall when he had straddled her in their impromptu tickle fight. He looked at his wrists, to what Tilda let them go and laced her fingers to his instead, seemingly understanding something deeper was coursing his mind.

Words heard in his dreams the night before crossed his lips, taking a new meaning.

"I need to be healed. I need to be whole."

"Oh, Kíli…"

They disentangled their limbs from how their tickle was had left them, and Tilda held him close to muffle his sobs in her shoulder. There was no magic formula to deal with coping, but to be there for someone in grief never failed. The steady hand, the calming voice, and unjudging words.

When the wave of tears was over Tilda cupped his face with a hand whilst drying it with the brim of her cloak. His eyes were cast down, the old shame of crying as no grown up dwarf should, in his prejudiced culture. Her sudden chuckle had him looking up again.

"You know, maybe I should do as when you were recovering from the Battle of Five."

Kíli frowned, curious.

"Do what?"

"Kiss you better." She giggled and kissed his brow. "I was so silly then, didn't see how you and your brother made fun of me by claiming you were healing because I kissed you better each evening when I was leaving the healing house."

He couldn't supress a smile at the memory.

"It wasn't for fun, Tilda. To know there's someone who cares about you, about your well-being, as you did for us…" In his mind Kíli changed _us_ for _me_, but wasn't bold enough to spell it out loud.

"Did it work?" She asked.

"We did our best to make you believe it did." He answered with a sheepish smile.

"No, not back then. Right now."

He was out of words for a moment, considering what it was she really meant with her question. Yet, actually, he was in no position to deny it, and whispered to her.

"Yes. It did."

"Great!" She smiled broadly, the human imp. "I shall kiss you better each night, then. Until you are healed and whole. This is a promise."


	31. What a Hunter Has to Say

**A.N.:** Just a short Sunday gift for you all.  
The elves talk in Sindarin. No need to indicate it along the chapter, they won't interact with any non-elf right now.

=^.^=

Thranduil lifted his gaze from the report he was reading to answer the soft knock on the door.

"You might come in."

None would be stupid enough to interrupt him while in his studio if it weren't important or pre-scheduled. Actually, pre-scheduled meetings tended to be held in the throne room on the Council room, so _important_ it was bound to be.

"My king."

"Gathrod." He acknowledged the presence of the ward, a tacit allowance for him to speak.

"A hunter asks for permission to report a finding, my king."

"A finding?"

"It's about the prince, my king."

"Bring him in!"

Thranduil wasn't easily disturbed. This was not the first time Legolas granted him headaches, but there was something unsettling this time and he couldn't figure out why.

He didn't have time to dwell on his dark foreboding, if foreboding it was. Gathrod came back, the hunter in tow, a young Silvan in day-to-day guise, visibly nervous.

"Thranduil king." The lad greeted, hand on heart and a deep bow.

"Welcome in. What may we call you?"

"Berion, son of Lenwë, my king."

Son of Lenwë. So many Silvan were named after the first leader of the Silvan that it was close to impossible to know to which Lenwë it pointed. Thranduil shrugged mentally and proceeded his inquiry.

"And what news you came to report, Berion son of Lenwë?"

The lad wet his lips and began to talk, almost stuttering. Most probably, never had occasion to talk to the king in person.

"I was hunting some days east of here, my king, to provide for the coming winter and…"

"We're sure this level of detail isn't necessary; please sum up."

Berion stumbled over what he was saying and did his best to go straight to the point. His king's impatience was well known amongst his subjects.

"Yes, my king. I found the remains of a dead horse, visibly eaten by some beast. The horseshoes were of our making, so I searched for any trace of our people, to figure out to whom the horse belonged, my king, to find out the owner's fate."

Thranduil's apprehension grew by the second at Berion's report. East from the palace, the shorter way to Erebor, even if not the safer one, and he knew Legolas had left on horse. The lad fumbled with his satchel and brought out a twenty-four inches long thin object, wrapped in a piece of cloth, and presented it to the king.

With trembling hands, he accepted the ominous package. Thranduil almost didn't need to unwrap it to know what the content was, as acquainted as he was with its weight and shape. It couldn't be any other way, as he used it for many a century before giving it away as a gift. The piece of cloth fell down from it anyway, revealing what he dreaded.

It was one of Legolas' fighting knives.


	32. Night Terrors

**A.N:** Helo, dearest readers, things begin to get dark from here on, be warned. Actually, I believe this to be one of the darkest chapters of this whole story.  
Thanks for the continued support to **Mizz Alec Volturi**, **Celebrisilweth**, **Mustard Lady**, **The Other Writer Girl** and **Ice Dancer 2157**, and welcome to the party, **Witty Nickname** and **Ice Dancer 2157**!  
*Hides behind a tree waiting for the stones to be thrown*

**=^.^=**

The day was unusually hot for autumn and the result of a hard day's march was felt on their skins, even if riding. The horses were sweaty and tired, too, and the creek crossing the path was an unaccounted for blessing.

"Refill waterskins?"Asked Tilda, whipping a loose strand of hair from her brow and bringing Broda to a halt.

"Sure, but more." Kíli was already dismounting and moving his hands to unsaddle Tripsy. "Late enough in the afternoon to make camp. The horses are tired, we are too hot…"

The word _hot_ left his mouth the same moment Tilda slid off her mount, her buttocks almost grazing his face as he tried to help the young woman he already knew needed no-one's help.

"Aye, to this I must agree!"

Her cloak fell to the ground beside the horse of Rohan, the sigil of Dale forgotten on behalf of a stream of fresh water. Kíli threw the cloak over his shoulder and followed Tilda to the creek.

"Tilda, we're making camp here for tonight, aye? No need to hurry."

"I'm _too hot_, Kíli, can't you see?"

She turned back to him, untying her gown and peeling it from her body like a distasteful thing. Which it probably was, considering the amount of sweat and dust it gathered along the last couple days, but Kíli wasn't prepared to see Tilda in her underware again so soon, considering the first and last time it was solely to prevent her garment to get soaked in the forest river. Not that the sight of her in wet undergown didn't do crazy things to his mind. Not only his mind, actually, as another part of his anatomy reminded him.

"Aye, I… I see… I see…"

The splash of water surprised him, because last time he checked Kíli was kind of thirty feet from the creek, worn boots in place, leather bracers and mail too, and now his bare feet felt the smoothness of the river stones and the coolness of water caressing his skin.

He lifted his eyes from the water to find her form showing underneath wet fabric.

"I'm not afraid of water, Tilda! Stop it, would ya?"

She laughed, the crystal laughter that made him crave for more.

"And what are you afraid of, then?"

Tilda spread her hands to him, baring them in an offering of peace.

Kíli reached out for the offered hands, holding each one of them like a special treasure.

"I'm not afraid, Tilda, it's just that… that you…"

All Tilda was before him crumbled to a tiny figure, wild eyed in awe of him and his companions coming out of a wooden toilette in Bard's house at Lake Town. Her nervous hands held a ragdoll and her shrill voice questioned:

"Did you come to bring me luck?"

His hands retreated, unable to touch the little girl.

"I… I can't touch you, Tilda, I can't! You're just a child, I could never…" He stammered at the horror of the idea. "It… it would be _wrong_, Tilda, I cannot…"

The child disappeared and the woman was before him again, young and beautiful. She took his hands and brought him closer, making said hands to touch her body.

"I _was_ a child, Kíli, I _am_ no more. Look at me!"

He obliged, taking in the sight of her curvilinear shape, full breasts daring him from under the thin fabric of her undergown. The water she had soaked in tricked it to an indecent transparency, and Kíli forced himself to look at her eyes again.

"I shouldn't…"

He started to protest, but she insisted.

"If you can't look, then touch me, Kíli. Learn with your skin that I'm not a child anymore."

Saying so, Tilda took a step forward, bringing his hands to her breasts, to her torso, to the curve of her hips. Kíli bit his lower lip and gave in, holding her tight, running his hands along her back, her buttocks, her hair, burying his face in her neck, breathing in the female scent of her skin. Hesitantly, he traced her jawline with his tongue, anxious on how she would react, but the moan that escaped her lips sent his fears to Mordor.

His hands were firm on Tilda's body, bringing warmth to her wet skin. Wet and warm were also her lips, parting gently to let him invade with an insolent tongue. She shuddered when Kíli bit her lower lip, carding his hair, his scrub tickling her sensible skin.

"Tilda, I really shouldn't…"

He tried to protest, only to be silenced by Tilda.

"I'm not a child Kíli, look at me!" He lifted his eyes to hers, obeying the urge in her voice. "I'm a woman, and you _should_."

This was said like an order, and Kíli kissed said order back into her mouth. A couple of steps brought them back to the grassy meadow beside the creek, where they sat in contented expectation.

"What more should I?"

"What more are you able to?"

"Whatever you want."

"I want it all."

Tilda crashed her lips to his again, running her hand from his side to his hip and the string of his trousers, making sure it was clear what _all_ meant. Kíli took the chance to strip off his shirt, spreading it on the ground to keep away the tickle of the grass, if not the discomfort of the hard forest ground.

"You shouldn't stay in wet clothes, you may catch a cold."

His concern was real, despite other implications of the statement.

"I'd rather catch something hot." Tilda answered with a mischievous smile.

Kíli kissed her again, savouring her lips as the most inebriating wine, caressing her body without the restraints of the undergown. Propped on his elbow he was able to touch her and kiss without imposing his weight on her slender frame, and to enjoy the sight of the shivers he sent through her body with every kiss.

"Should I…?" He inquired in a whisper to her ear.

"I told you already, Kíli!"

"I must be sure if you want…"

"I want, I want it all!" She moaned and Kíli let his hand slid along her curves. "I want it all you have to give me, Kíli, I want to be a woman with you, for you!"

It was his turn to moan at the prospect. They kissed some more until Tilda stopped and held his gaze.

"Are you all right?" Questioned Kíli.

"A bit…" She hesitated. "A bit… afraid, I guess… I… I never…"

Kíli understood, and took in a deep breath. No doubt a virgin human woman would be afraid.

"Tilda, you don't have to. Nor to be afraid, nor to do… whatever you have in mind. We are free to stop any moment you decide so, all right?"

She heard the earnestness in his voice and nodded. But something in her was stronger than her fear, for the time being.

"I don't want to stop. Not yet. Anyway… can we make it… slowly?"

Her hesitancy brought a comprehensive smile to his lips.

"We can take any amount of time you wish, Tilda. And whenever… and I _mean_ whenever… you want me to stop, I'll stop. Right on the spot. Like a stone carving."

She heaved sigh, relieved. He misunderstood it.

"We can stop right now, if it is what you wish."

"No!" She replied too fast. "No…" She said again, softer, reaching to touch his stubble beard. "Right now, I want more. Please."

He leaned in to kiss her again, and let his hand wind down her curves, from her chin to her throat to her breast, enjoying the sensation of her breath getting faster under his mouth. His hand went further down, waist and hips and more.

Tilda broke the kiss to breath and Kíli nibbled at her earlobe. Her breath hitched and he fell still.

"No, don't stop!" She complained.

"D'you like it?" He hurried to ask.

"Feels… good…" Tilda managed to whisper between her hitched breaths. "Want… more…"

"Don't wanna hurt you…"

She had other ideas, though.

"Has to happen…" Tilda replied, short of breath and shiny eyes staring at him. "Wanna be a whole woman with you, Kíli, nothing less." She cupped his face and moved her hips to make her point. "Can't hurt more than mooncycle cramps, and will be only the first time."

Only the first time… Kíli's hearth jumped in his chest, because it meant she wanted more – more than once, more than just today. And she said she wanted to be a woman with _him_. Of all people, with _him_.

Kíli just felt the luckiest of dwarves.

He felt his skin melt to hers, her scent invading his nostrils. A loud moan escaped his lips.

"Did I hurt you?" Tilda stopped and questioned, wide eyed.

"No, I… so good…"

It was her time to show concern.

"I don't wanna hurt you, Kíli, I want to make you feel good like others… like other ones did…"

He felt the weight of her words like an anvil on his shoulders, but he was glad to open up. If he was her first, it was only fair that she knew that…

"There was none." He mumbled in her ear, asking himself if he should be ashamed. Most males, of every race he knew, boasted on having had sex with as many females they were able. Not that he believed everything they told, but…

"None?"

Her hands cupped his face, making him look into her eyes. There was curiosity, innocence, and hope.

"None." Was his earnest answer, pouring all his feeling in that word. "You'll be my first."

"Then how…" She stumbled on the idea. "How do you know how to… to…"

She blushed, but Kíli felt his own face flush with the question.

"I've heard about it." He looked away. "I… I'll try to… to do it the best I can on what I heard… I… I'm sorry, Tilda, I'm not as experienced as you deserve, I don't want to hurt you, I want to make it right."

Tilda breathed in and smiled.

"I want to make it right, too. If I only make it as good as you are making to me…"

And good it was, her gentle touch, her soft hand on his skin. He kissed her eagerly, hoping to distract her from any bad thought, but she seemed to be fine right now. It was hard to think with all the stimuli he was getting from touching her and being touched.

Tilda broke the kiss, arching her back. Kíli took the clue and kissed her neck and down. Her moans indicated he was in the right path to make her his.

To move further was only natural, all of him eager to make Tilda his own. She said she wanted him, and he believed. There was no taking back.

She moaned, and he continued.

She cried, and he continued.

She called his name, and there was angst in her voice.

"What?"

Kíli opened his eyes and faced a crying Tilda, tears rolling down her beautiful face.

"Kíli, look at me!"

He heeded her plea, stunned by the hitch of her voice.

Her hair was dishevelled, her face a mess of tears.

His disbelieving eyes ran over her torso, bites and bruises where his teeth and hands were ungentle marring her fair skin.

"Tilda, what…"

She pushed his shoulders up, rough.

"Look at me! Kíli, look at me!"

He obeyed, already scared by what he saw on her face and little bellow. And he gapped.

Propped on his arms and looking at where their bodies met, all Kíli could see was a mess. Her milky skin was bruised and… bloodied…

He moved away from her with a jerk, earning a cry of pain as reward. His wide eyes stated the misery his lust resulted, blood everywhere he was caressing carefully just moments before… how could he…

"No… No…"

Her blood soaked the clothes beneath them, and he knew the soil would be marred too. He looked up at her face, guilt a knot in his throat, and her eyes turned glassy as life left them like her blood left her body due to his actions.

"No… Tilda, no…"

He pleaded with her lifeless form, hot tears welling in his eyes. It was not fair, it was not right, he never meant to hurt her, all he wanted was to make love to her, to love her, and now…

"Mahal smite me!"


	33. What Down Brings

**A.N.**: Hello, dearest readers, thank you so much for not throwing too much stones at this poor bard. As promised, no delays, yet I can't promise a very happy end of chapter…  
Special thanks to **Mizz Alec Volturi**, **Celebrisilweth**, **Salwyn77** and **The Other Writer Girl** for the continued support and new readers **Witch named Anna**, and **Irish Hermit**, welcome!

**=^.^=**

"Mahal smite me!"  
Kíli cried, hitting the ground with his fists as hard as his sobs hit his chest.  
He was a murderer, a bloody murderer, someone who took advantage of someone's weakness to fulfil his own desire.  
Tilda's glassy eyes turned to forest green and her hair caught a sun gleam that turned it to auburn. Her breast heaved a deep breath before it fell still again, a well known voice inside his brain.  
"_You didn't kill me, _amrâlimë."  
Tauriel was bleeding in front of him, her blood soaking the ground, the light of the stars leaving her eyes.

"But you died! You died because of our love… You didn't have to…"

The whole scene of Bolg almost stabbing him when he was too hurt to react and Tauriel jumping in front of him and taking the hit instead flashed in front of his eyes. Legolas finished the orc, but Tauriel was… gone.

"_Of course I had to. Because I'm a warrior. Or would you not do the same for me, or for your brother, or for the lesser of the peasants of your kingdom? Wouldn't you do it… for the child of a foreign bargeman?_"

Kíli didn't have to think hard to agree with Tauriel's spirit.

"You know I would."

She spoke once more before the coldness of gems replaced the fire of her life.

"_Your love doesn't kill the ones you love, Kíli. Don't be afraid to love again, and to love more._"

"But… But it would be… disrespectful to you…"

"_Kíli_…" Her voice was soft and distant. "_Do you deem me so greedy that my heart can't take in someone as sweet as Tilda?_"

"No! No, I…"

He was confused, but confused by Tauriel's words was better than overwhelmed by Tilda's blood. Which is to say…

His eyes flashed from a vanishing Tauriel to a very young Tilda, a ragdoll in her hands and no stain to any of her. He propped his hands on his knees to be eye level with the human child.

"I can't… I could never… Tilda… Just a child… No…"

Tilda left the doll be and took Kíli's hands. There was no trace of tear or bruise, and she smiled at him.

"Kíli, just look at me. I'm not a child anymore."

Her voice was steady, incongruous with her cries from not long ago. He stared, confused, at the stainless face, welcoming eyes, neatly braided hair instead of the mess he left her with his uncouth lust. Tilda touched his forehead, whipping away sweat and messy bangs.

"Thanks Ilúvatar you're awake at last. I don't know what you were trashing about, but it is over. I'm here, I'm all right, and I'm not a child. Don't worry."

Kíli tried to control his sobs, ashamed in so many ways it was hard to describe. Somehow, Tilda knew how to handle him, keeping eye contact as she carded his hair in a soothing way, mumbling assuring words.

"Shh… shh… Look at me, I'm here… It's all right… Look at me…"

"Tilda…" He sobbed, trying to make her understand his anguish, but too ashamed to explain it. "You were child…"

She giggled.

"Sure I was, Kíli. Ten years ago."

Her giggle, so incongruous with his nightmare, snapped him back to present time and place.

"Ten years ago. When we came to retake Erebor. When…"

"Shh… It's in the past. Look at me, now."

And he looked. And he saw.

There was a woman, not a child. Daughter of Men. Strong, in will and body. Stubborn like a dwarrowdam, if he ever knew one. Kind as an elf. As _his_ elf. And despite everything his elf said in his dreams, he feared. Because that woman was beautiful, and Tauriel was right. He was afraid to love again. He was afraid to have her hurt because of him. And yet…

He leaned forward, crossing the few inches between them, and kissed her without thinking. Her lips were soft, warm, and welcoming.

Welcoming.

Her hands in his head, able to push him, to signal him to stop, only caressed, playing with his hair as if they had all the time in the world.

And they had.

They could spend the remaining time of their lives together. They could live with the woodsman as a married couple, none would know different from what they told them. They could build a little cottage in the forest, he could hunt and she could fish and they'd trade it for goods. He could even build a little forge and earn coin from this craft. It would be hard work at first, but they were young, and they were free, and they could do it, together. They could cuddle in front of the hearth in winter, sharing a good conversation, a meal, and warmth. And when they were tired of the day, they could just bank the fire and go to bed. They could…

"No!" Kíli broke the kiss with a cry, jerking away from her. "I cannot, I'll hurt you, Mahal, what have I done?"

Tilda looked at him wide eyed with surprise.

"Kíli, it's all right, you did nothing wrong!" She tried to assure him, confused by his reaction.

"No, I'll hurt you, I know I'll hurt you, I shouldn't have…"

He simply couldn't hear her protests.

"Kíli, I wanted it too!"

She tried to argue, but he was deaf to anything but her cries in his nightmare, and actually kissing her, and knowing he wanted more, scared him to death. The eyes that pleaded with him to calm down only reminded him of the eyes that pleaded for her very life in his nightmare, and he panicked.

"What have I done? Mahal, what have I done?"

Kíli whispered to himself as he stepped back, away from her, in his illusion of protecting her from his presence. She would never be safe with him around. All he brought to the ones he loved was disappointment, pain, and death. She would be better off…

Tilda took a step forward, a tentative hand reaching out as if in an offering of peace. Throwing a snake in his direction would have had a better result.

He ran away.

Kíli ran away, the thunder of his heart drumming in his ears muffling the sound of her voice calling him.

"Kíli! Kíli, what's wrong?" She pleaded, confused. "Kíli, come back, please!"


	34. The Way of the Warrior

**A.N: **Helo, dearest readers, I'm still alive, thanks the Valar, just spent some days at Comic Con Experience and at my Mom (80 y.o., deserves lots of attention!), I expect next chapters to be up on due date, and here we go again!  
Thanks for the continued support to **Celebrisilweth**, **Nenithiel**, **Mustard Lady**, **Mizz Alec Volturi **and** That Other Writer Girl**, you are the best!  
And welcome to the party, **djacobs**, I hope you enjoy this ride!  
More than special thanks to **Sir Winston Churchill** and all **Bushido** warriors and philosophers…

=^.^=

Kíli ran aimlessly for what felt like hours, but could easily be days, if the strain to his lungs were to be taken into account. The sound of Tilda's voice still echoed in his mind, yet he couldn't ascertain if it was what she cried in his dream or in real life. Actually, there were moments it was hard to ascertain what in his life was real and what was nightmare, lately.

At least, riding and camping with Tilda was no nightmare, even in he just turned it into one for her, forcing a kiss on the maiden…

His foot caught a root, diligently hidden under a pile of dead leaves, in collusion to make him fall.

"Fair." He thought, bitter, spitting a twig. "Just what a runaway deserves, I deem."

The dwarf squirmed until he was on his knees, brushing dirt and leaves from his arms and torso. A scrapped hand sought for his handkerchief to wipe his face, until he recalled giving it to Tilda.

There she was, in his thought again, even if he just ran away from her. Because he had run into her when he was running away from whomever Thorin fancied he should marry. It was a lot of running away for just one dwarf, Kíli mused, considering he faced a dragon. Yet, that dragon wouldn't sleep and wake up at his side for the rest of his life, would it?

"You're diverting again, Kíli the auto-exiled, to keep your mind from her and from what you did!"

He mumbled to himself, standing up and looking back the way he came. Better to track himself back to the campsite while his own tracks were still fresh, that forest was anything but trustworthy. However, Tilda probably had left the camp and his pathetic self behind to die in shame, he would find her and present his due apologies. It was the least his honour demanded. If she accepted it, he would…

Right, what would he do? Promise to behave? That's what he would do to his Amad when he was a dwarfling. Obviously, it would not do.

"_You can always lie_." Tilda said about his nightmares. That's exactly why he couldn't, not to her. She would know just by his stance, and it would be worse.

What more could he say but ashamed apologies for his actions? That he mistook her for Tauriel and acted accordingly? She would know it as the blatant lie it was. He didn't kiss her because he thought she was Tauriel, he kissed her because she was _Tilda_!

That he killed her in his nightmare and had to be sure she was alive? Closer to the truth, but what if she demanded to know the manner of her death? Would he be able to baffle her, maybe telling it was an accident? That he didn't mean it?

"_Don't be afraid to love again_."

Kíli inhaled deeply, eyes closed, conscious that Tauriel wouldn't be there if he looked around, even if her voice was so clear it hurt.

"Are you siding with Thorin now, I wonder?"

He hissed under his breath, again backtracking his own steps. The ghost of his One didn't answer and Kíli focused on the forest ground. It was stepper than he recalled, and he didn't notice he had run that much.

"She's a healer. Maybe I can approach it claiming my nightmare was like an illness? That my heart would never allow me to do what invaded my dream?" Kíli spoke softly to himself as he walked. "Yet, I _did_ some of it. I kissed her. Maker, I _kissed_ her! And now I must apologize. Aye, that is it: I will go to Tilda, apologize for kissing her, tell her I had a terrible nightmare, _which is true,_" - he had to highlight it to himself – "and that kissing her was…"

"_…__what your heart demanded_." Tauriel's ghostly voice whispered in his ear.

"What?!"

Kíli startled, stopping in his tracks. He was almost used to hear her voice in his dreams, but seldom in his waking hours, and even then it used to be just one or another phrase, months or even years apart. Last twenty-four hours she not only invaded his dreams but spoke to him clearly, more than once, and now even completed his train of thought.

"_It was what your heart demanded, amrâlimê. Am I wrong_?"

He blinked. Her voice was sweet, the question sounding rhetoric, not accusing as it should be if there were any hint of jealousy. And he was awake. This time he was sure to be awake. So, even if it was his sleeping imagination who stated Tauriel wasn't greedy and would willingly take in sweet Tilda, now it was his waking mind, or waking imagination, whatever, who heard Tauriel's words regarding his own feelings.

And she was right.

The epiphany hit him like a landslide.

"I love."

"_Yes._"

"But I fear."

"_You do_."

"What now?"

"_You know_._ Every true warrior knows._"

Aye, he supposed.

To do what's right. To do what must be done despite circumstances, dangers and pressures, notwithstanding his own conditions.

To have the courage to live free of fear. To be brave enough to decide to act. Not blind fearlessness, but to replace fear with caution and respect.

To be loyal. Only strong, noble spirits are able to be loyal, because it means responsibility. That's why Thorin used to list _loyalty_ as one of the things he was bound to demand from someone who was to join the Retake. You have to be strong to be loyal, to be consistent to what you say or do, because the consequences will be yours, too.

And, last but not least…

To be completely honest with yourself and everyone else.

Obviously, Tilda deserved nothing less than this.

Lifting his gaze to the top of the trees of the forest where Tauriel's spirit had been incarnated and now haunted him, Kíli felt a strange kind of peace invade his long time troubled heart.

"I'll be brave."


	35. Musings on a Missing Dwarf

**A.N.:** Hello, dearest readers, here goes a little Christmas present for you all!  
Special thanks for the continued support, especially to **pallysd'Artagnan** (I'm glad you're back), **Mizz Alec Volturi** (there are more sweet moment to come, keep the faith), **Nenithiel** (he'll try, but things might not be so easy), **Celebrisilweth** (Tauriel has more sense and knows things Kíli doesn't yet) and **Mustard Lady** (he will surely try…).

=^.^=

Tilda was befuddled, to say the least, on behalf of the most recent events. To see Kíli trashing in the throes of a nightmare was no novelty, but what came next… When he looked at her with glazed eyes, claiming she was just a child… Was it because they talked about the Battle the day before? Was his fever high again? No, she would be able to tell by the feel of his skin when he…

He kissed her. Kíli _actually _kissed her. It was not a dream this time.

And he was awake. The glazed shine his eyes showed when he was enclosed in a nightmare wasn't there anymore. She knew it. Could it be that Kíli wanted her like she fancied him? Was it possible that what she felt was mutual, in any measure?

"Bullshit…" She muttered to herself. If he had any feeling for her he wouldn't run away from a simple kiss, would he? He probably dreamed of Tauriel and reacted on it, half asleep.

But he was _not_ asleep.

"Argh, abstruse dwarf! If it continues this way, Kíli will be the death of me someday – or of my sanity, granted!"

She readied most of her stuff for the day, saddling both horses to gain time. Kíli's own sleeping furs she let be, knowing his jealousy on the weapons he kept under it. Stupid dwarf, he shouldn't have run away from the camp without a weapon on him. Actually, he shouldn't have run away, period.

Tilda looked at the small pile of wood they had collected the day before, whilst the dark of night didn't settle down completely. It was good firewood, dry, light and quick to kindle. She would not ride away before Kíli came back, so, besides the ordinary disassembly of the camp, there was little to do and too much exasperation to deal with. Some hacking would do to work her frustration out and enable the firewood to be carried with them to the next campsite, as they used to do when good fuel was found.

Broda snorted at the sound of her first axe blow. She was used to it, the horse kind of laughed every time she did something her thin frame wasn't quite built to accomplish.

"I hauled enough fish nets in my life to be able to do this, you rohirrim fagot." She mentioned to the horse, even if only to have someone to talk to. Tilda wasn't sure if she was more confused or angry, but the wood was taking the worst of it, sparing the horses from most of her mental rant. "And I was hauling stones to rebuilt Dale when you weren't even a foal yet, so you know."

But Kíli was an adult by then, and now he was unable to see she had grown up. Grown up enough for her father to consider her apt to marry. She didn't wish to marry whomever her father chose, but it didn't change her status of old enough. If Tilda were to choose between suitors, she wouldn't complain if Kíli were on the list.

"Would it be too much to ask, Broda, to have a dwarf prince as my husband?"

The horse neighed softly, and Tilda took it as an agreement on Broda's part. Tripsy neighed too, as if to put her own copper coin in the discussion.

"That's what I thought. And you Tripsy, what can you tell me about your master? You know him closer than I do, I'm sure. I've never seen you being mistreated, even when we were in a hurry. Da says a man who mistreats his steed is bound to mistreat his lady, eventually." She left the axe be and stacked the wood on a tarpaulin Sigrid provided for this purpose. "Which makes me wonder, does it mean every Rohirrim is bound to be a good husband? I must ask Siggie next time I see her, she should know."

Thinking of her sister saddened her, but Tilda tried to swallow the feeling with a gulp of water. Chopping wood was thirsty work, and thinking about the ones she loved and left behind wouldn't help the work to be done.

"If your master has something resembling brains, he should come back soon." Tilda addressed the pony again. "He's one to say this forest is dangerous, yet acts as if it were the garden next door. Is he usually this moron?"

Tripsy nickered, ears down, but Tilda ignored it, eyes on her task. Broda, closer to the woman, sidestepped, looking around as if sensing something wrong.

"No need to answer, I'm sure he is. Wouldn't brood on what others say about forgetting Tauriel if he weren't. What he feels about her is his problem and his alone, isn't it?"

The horse almost bumped her side, neighing, and only then Tilda noticed something must be amiss. The pony's nostrils flared, eyes wide and searching.

When the woman perceived the danger, it was too late.

"Catch her!"

The command was a harsh shout, and creatures poured from everywhere around. Tilda didn't have to ratiocinate to know what they were.

"Orcs! Help! Help!"

She cried at full lungs, hoping against hope that Kíli would be close enough to hear, yet thinking herself clever for not shouting his name. If the orcs heard a name being shouted, they would know there was someone else and would be prepared for it. As if they wouldn't know for the load on the beasts…

"Shut her up!"

The one who must be their leader shouted, trying to avoid the axe in her hand. Some of the orcs were having trouble with the horses, that pranced and kicked as they could, a havoc beside the woman.

"Help!"

Tilda kept shouting, wielding the hand axe the best she could considering it was not a weapon, just a tool. Tripsy kicked the tarpaulin, scattering wood on Kíli's sleeping furs, and bit an orc. The response was swift and deadly, a gash on her neck pouring blood as the mare writhed in agony.

"Stop the horse!"

Seeing what had been done to the pony and hearing the threat to loyal Broda, Tilda wielded her axe down on the rope that tied the horse. The smart beast didn't wait a second to use his freedom and leave the campsite – slaughtersite – at full gallop.

Tilda was no warrior, she was a healer. Even if accounted as a fisher, there would not be much she could do with a fish knife that she couldn't with a hand axe. Moreover, she was just _one_ person against a bunch of orcs. What chance did she have?

"Help! Help me!"

She tore her lungs until something gagged her. After Tripsy was slaughtered and Broda obeyed her command to run (as if such order were needed), it didn't take much for the orcs to restrain Tilda and curb any attempt to resist them. Coarse rope tied her hands, and she didn't want to guess the material of whatever was used to gag her, since, being a healer, she was well used to the reek of decay. Her ankles were shackled, feet too close to each other to allow her to kick the orcs where it hurt, or even elsewhere without granting her a fall.

A group of six orcs passed her by, carrying the remains of Kíli's fidel pony. In between her own misery, Tilda was still able to bewail on the fallen mare, one more innocent life lost to orc violence and the Powers only knew if Middle-earth would ever be free from those spawns of Darkness.

"We found no trace of the dwarf scum, captain Burzurg."

Tilda turned her eyes to the smaller orc who was informing his supposed superior. The bigger one, whose face had a distinctive extra fang trespassing his left cheek, growled.

"Doesn't matter. We have two prizes already. Won't be hard to find the third."

The woman felt her heart hammering inside her chest. It didn't matter who or what the _first prize_ might be; all she hoped was Kíli's impromptu flight granted him never, never be the third.


	36. Anguish

**A.N**: Hello, dearest readers, sorry for the delay, holidays and work kept me away from Middle-earth for a while, but at least this chapter is a bit longer, I hope it compensates.

Thanks for the continued support, notedly to **pallysd'Artagnan** – Tilda will be too busy to be angry, probably; **Mizz Alec Volturi** – yep, the same orcs who captured Legolas on chapter Mists and Darkness; **Nenithiel** – I wouldn't expect Kíli to be so lucky… **Celebrisilweth** – you can surely expect an angry dwarf! **The Other Writer Girl** – Broda will be even smarter than going to find Kíli, he is breed of Rohan after all; **Mustard Lady** – Kíli will do his best, be sure!

And welcome to the Traditional Track the Tracker Tournament to **Lumiere D'Amour**, **ke7drd** and ** .7**, hop on and enjoy the ride!

**=^.^=**

Kíli's heart hammered inside his chest. He knew their camp was close, and tried to rehearse what he would say to Tilda once he got there. No approach seemed good enough, but he was determined to have this conversation as soon as he was back, as soon as he could lay his eyes on Tilda again.

"Princess Tilda, I kneel before you to beg for your forgiveness on my discourteous behaviour this morning. No, too formal. Princess Tilda, I was an idiot this morning, please forgive me. True, yet too forward. And cut the _princess_ part, I never call her that."

He walked briskly, to clear his thoughts on the way back. To run would make him reach her faster, but his mind needed balance prior to face the woman. The woman he _loved_, of all things.

"Tilda, I don't know how to make amends for kissing you this morning, but I hope you believe it was not what you think. How can I say this if I don't know what she thinks? Tilda, I took a walk this beautiful morning and found out I love you, will you marry me? Nah. Tilda, I don't know how it happened, but I'm in love. No, not before asking her for forgiveness. I must have been out of my mind when I thought she was reciprocating the kiss."

As he got closer to their small camp his warrior training told him something was wrong. There was no sound. No shuffle of grazing horses, no swish of Tilda's clothes, no _nothing_. He walked as silent as a dwarf could be, steel tipped boots included, moving from tree to tree wishing for once he were an elf. Or a hobbit. What he saw when the camp finally came into view froze his blood.

There was no Tilda. Worse yet, it was not as if she simply gave him up, gathered her things and left, which would be bad enough. It was wreckage. The kind of wreckage left behind by ugly fight, the kind of ugly only orcs were capable of.

"Tilda?"

He called out, hoping against hope she hid somewhere before the bedlam began. No answer. His worry skyrocketed when he saw blood where their sleeping furs had been spread. Running to the site, he breathed in relief when he noticed the blood was splattered mostly on firewood and the tarpaulin they used to carry it. And it was too much blood to belong to just one person, a human of her tiny frame moreover.

The death of any of their horses was bad enough, he bought Tripsy when the pony was a foal and would miss the mare dearly if it were her blood on the ground, and even Broda, if it were the proud beast of Rohan the victim; but if he lost Tilda the moment he spelled out his feeling for her, it would be a blow he wasn't sure he could weather.

Broda was part of how he met Tilda, and it made the horse dear to him, but if he could choose, he hoped the blood was anything but Tilda's. Broda, Tripsy, all were little sacrifice if his accountancy.

One sight made his findings happier: black blood. Whatever happened, at least one orc had been hurt. By the lack of pattern of the black blotches, it could even be more than one. Tilda was taken, but not without a fight. That meant she was alive. Or had been, for a while. Or was, for the time being. He had to work fast if it were to remain so.

So, now, what resources did he have?

"My bow!"

Part of the tarpaulin with the hacked firewood was covering his sleeping furs, and he dug into it with greedy hands. A small prayer to Mahal and Oromë parted his lips in gratefulness as his weapon of choice came to light. His sword followed swift, as well as his quiver. Some arrows had been damaged, but there were plenty for a good hunt. And to hunt he would, until Mordor if need be.

"None steals what a son of Durin loves and gets away with it, I swear by Mahal's hammer!"

=^.^=

The elf felt like sand was ingrained into his eyes, but he forced himself to open them a slit all the same. The drowsiness was slowly fading as the most recent spider sting wore off, and he hopped this time he would be able to feign being drugged long enough. If he could be alert while the orcs deemed him poisoned, there was a chance of escape.

Legolas was becoming used to the orc pack routine, or so he believed, based on what he could recall when alert enough. Trampling the forest the whole night and the shadowy hours of dusk and down; throwing him a crust of moldy bread and a gulp of stale water; hiding from the sparse sun that filtered through Mirkwood leaves; handling a caged spider to sting him again if he seemed too alert for their tastes; repeat.

He was learning to feign the torpidity the venom caused. If he was too numb to walk, the orcs had to carry him, and they hated even the touch of his clothes; if they deemed him too aware, they would use the spider to control him, and _he_ hated to be stunned.

He had been stunned time enough to lose count of how long he was captive already. A sennight? A fortnight? He was almost sure it was not yet a whole moon. Emphasis on _almost_.

His father wouldn't miss him for a whole moon at least, knowing how long it took to reach Erebor and be back. And maybe more, if his temper at their parting was to be taken into notice. The only person who would miss him sooner parted from Middle-earth ten years prior, and he sent a silent to her _fae(1)_ in Mandos every time he found himself awake, knowing her soul yet lived, even if now only in the Undying Lands. If someone could cross the bridge between where he was and anybody able to save him, it was her.

Whilst help didn't come, he would try to find a way out, obviously. None in Arda would say Legolas son of Thranduil was one to be idle wiggling his thumbs waiting for rescue.

If he could stay alert without notice for time enough, he could try to picklock the shackles at his wrists and ankles. It would be easier if he were to handle ropes, but orcs never chose _easier_ for him, it seemed.

His morning musings were cut short by some ruckus in the makeshift camp. Part of the orc pack had left earlier, between cries in their dark language and what passed for laughter. It never bode well, when they laughed. It was a sign that the spider was to be used on him, for instance. Yet, he would rather face a dozen stings than what he was about to see.

Right, half a dozen would be fine, he had had enough spider stinging for a lifelong, and this is a lot when you're an elf.

A limp body was thrown beside him. A nasty bump on her forehead explained the limpness, and several scrapes and gashes were witnesses to how much she fought before being defeated. Legolas held back the urge to shout at their captors, swallowing his anger on behalf of keeping her safe. At least, as safe as she could be without anyone arguing for her safety, if it ever made sense. Also, he could not show too much wakefulness if his plan of deceit was to work.

Even so, he waited until their captors were far enough and nudged the woman. She turned somewhat, allowing him to take a better look at her face. It was disturbingly familiar, even if Legolas didn't travel out of Mirkwood as much as he would like. Human, unmistakable human. Thin frame, dark blonde hair plaited in a neat braid, defined eyebrows; part of her face was covered by a dirty cloth, preventing him from viewing her lips. A brown coat concealed her shoulders, held by…

_The sigil of Dale_?

Oh, so. That explained why she looked so familiar to him.

Explained not, by Ilúvatar, what one of Bard's daughters was doing in the middle of this forest.

Although, his own presence, in the current circumstances, was in terms far from the usual.

"Great. Now I must work my escape plan to consider a human too." Thought a tiny selfish part of him. "So, let's try to assess the damage."

Shackled hands made it more difficult to ungag her, but her breathing became easier after the dirty rag was removed. Her hands were bound with rope instead of iron, but he would leave these be for the time being. No need to draw attention until a feasible plan was in course.

The tips of his fingers touched the bump on her forehead, and he drew what little healing power he held to restore her, chanting in a low murmur so not to draw unwanted attention. Legolas couldn't do much, healing was not his art, but a warrior worth his salt was bound to have a trick or two up his sleeve to aid a companion in need.

The woman stirred.

"Wha…"

"Shh." Legolas warned, putting a finger to her lips.

To open her eyes to see that elf when her last memory was that of an orc raid was confusing, but his shackled wrists made everything clear. Tilda nodded quietly, letting the elf know she understood the severity of the situation.

"How much are you hurt?" He asked in a whisper.

She tried her limbs, testing what worked and what didn't and how much pain was there. Fortunately, it was more of the superficial kind, nothing that prevented her to move. Some gashes could do better with cleansing and bandaging (specially cleansing), but her life was in no immediate danger. From the wounds, at least.

"Not my better day. Nothing broken or sprained, though." She kept her voice low as her companion in captivity did. "I could run a mile but for these shackles. And you?"

It surprised Legolas that Bard's daughter (which one was beyond him) worried about his health when she was the one just brought to choky.

"Drugged by spider venom most of the time. I'm trying to make them believe I'm more drugged than I really am to attempt an escape."

"I'll help you, Highness. If you escape, you can get help easier than me."

Hard-headed Tilda surprised Legolas with her reasoning. She was visibly beaten and hurt, yet retained a self-control that could help them to win.

"None of this _highness_ stuff, princess, please. And I won't escape without you, no way."

"No _highness_ stuff, yet you call me _princess_. How coherent." She humphed, trying to take a better view of the camp.

She stressed around fifty orcs, maybe more. More than went to capture her, undoubtedly. It was no disappointment to be deemed a lesser threat, an easy target. Not when she was traveling with…

"How shall I call you then?"

"Huh?" She had momentarily forgotten Legolas' presence on behalf of scrutinizing the camp. Elf healing magic was more powerful than she acknowledged it, by what she just experienced. "Tilda, what else?"

"Shut!"

Legolas whispered and shut his eyes, to what Tilda followed swift. A rough hand grabbed her face and turned it here and there.

"Harh!" The harsh voice was accompanied by an awful breath. "Little birdie wants to sing? I know what you pulled away and I know you're awake!"

To confirm his suspicions, the orc struck a punch to her stomach. Tilda cried, doubling over with pain.

"Now sing, birdie: where is the dwarf scum?" A slap in the face was the reward for ignoring the question. Burzurg enjoyed her pain and noticed his fellows coming closer to see the show, making him bolder. "Again: where is the dwarf scum?"

"He ran away!" The woman cried at last.

"D'ye hear, lads? The dwarf filth ran away! Cowards, all of them!"

The audience roared with laughter and shouts of agreement. Tilda only shrunk into herself, trying to protect her face and internal organs from further damage.

"Where did the rat run to, hmm? Some hole in the ground?"

"I don't know." And it was true. She hoped he were very far away by now, alive and free.

"Oh, but he'll be back, soon enough… That kind can't hear a female cry properly without running back, can they?" Burzurg's hideous laughter was followed by the sting of a whip to her legs and the roar of the other orcs cherishing their leader. "Too soon for this game yet, birdie. We'll wait until that scum comes closer, and then we'll play it good…"

Tilda shut her eyes, avoiding contact with the yellowish ones of the orc. They knew about Kíli, they'd use her as bait, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

After a short while she felt a tug to her sleeve and pried behind her eyelashes. It was Legolas, and the orc pack had left them to do whatever orcs do when they're not pestering their captives.

"Hey. What dwarf were they talking about?"

The elf asked quietly, the seed of hope whirling his head.

"It's Kíli."

"The prince?"

"Aye. We were… traveling together." If Legolas noticed her hesitation, didn't react to it. "We had a…disagreement this morning. He left our camp to…clear his mind, I think. Then the orcs came. They killed his pony. My horse fled. I fought as much as I could, but they were many and I…"

A sob interrupted her tale, and the elf tried to comfort her.

"Hey. There was nothing you could do, Tilda. It's alright."

"What will they do to us?" She whimpered. "How will we escape?"

"They don't have Kíli yet, and he is a fierce warrior. We must keep watchful and act when he comes. I may untie the rope in your wrists, but we must take care so they don't notice it."

Hearing his plan helped Tilda to calm down, yet a thought gave her chills.

"And if he doesn't come? And if they kill him?"

"Then…" Legolas breathed deep. "We find another way and escape all the same. Although I doubt he won't come. I learned the hard way to what extremes the loyalty of that dwarf does reach."

Her body was hurt, her mind was confused by Kíli's behaviour that morning, but the words of that elf mended a hole in hear heart. Yet, how should she consider Kíli's loyalty after he fled his duty as an heir to Thorin? And who was she to judge his loyalty if she herself left Dale as she did? Argh, it was too much to consider. Yet, he promised to help her cross the forest, didn't he? Was rescue of the paws of orcs included in the deal?

On the other hand, Legolas was glad the woman focused on the '_how will we escape' _part instead of the '_what will they do to us'_. If he could keep her unaware of what the orcs expected form them, he would be glad. Because he heard enough of their plans while he was supposedly poisoned to know what expected them would not be pleasant, to say the least, and he feared Tilda knowing it would freeze her courage and keep her from acting.

Yet, it was unwise to keep her blind to what they were about to face, if everything went wrong. She _had_ to be aware.

"Tilda…" The elf whispered, and a silent nod let him know she was paying attention to him without alarming the orcs. "We must escape before we reach their final destination, if we are to escape at all. So, we wait; if Kíli tries to rescue us in the next two days, we'll do it together; if he doesn't show, we assume that… something kept him from helping us. Then, as soon as we fathom a way to escape, we escape."

"Aye, as soon as we may." That much was clear from the start; none would stay with the orcs for longer than needed, anyway. Yet, Legolas' urgency made her wonder. "Where are they taking us?"

His next words sent her a chill down the spine.

"They're taking us to Dol Guldur."


	37. Premeditation

**A.N.**: Hello, dearest readers, I'm so sorry for the long delay, a surgery and a virosis kept me away from the computer and turned my brain into jelly for a while. I'm not completely fine with this chapter, but it needs to get out, things won't go forward without it.  
My heartfelt thanks for your continued support to **pallysd'Artagnan** – there'll be some more 'oh, no!'s ahead…; **Mizz Alec Volturi** – those two may or may not do serious damage to the orcs yet; **Mustard Lady** – Sauron was forced away by Galadriel, but remember the Nine…; **Celebrisilweth** – Not so bad a day that it can't get worse…; **That Other Writer Girl** – Kíli will have a chance to say all that and much more, in due time; Thorin, unfortunately, is not nearby yet; **Salwyn77** – here it goes…

**=^.^=**

"Dol Guldur?" Tilda shivered as she identified what it meant. "It's an accursed name, a witchcraft place!"

"Indeed. They want us to reach there alive, but… if they have their way, we won't come _out_ alive."

"Honestly…" Tilda lowered her voice even more. "When the orcs charged into my camp, I thought I would die there and then. Being still alive is a bonus I wasn't expecting. Whilst there is life, there is hope, Da uses to say. But I really don't fancy going to Dol Guldur. If half what people say about that place is true…"

"It is. The White Council drove the Necromancer away by the time of Smaug's demise, but evil still lingers there. My father believed it was only a remainder of that dark will. He was wrong. There dwells something…that works on behalf of the Necromancer. It didn't end back then. And if I understood rightly what the orcs were talking between themselves… they're trying to bring more darkness to Middle-earth. And they want to use us to achieve this."

"Use us?" The woman frowned, fear creeping up her spine. "How?"

"Some dark magic. I couldn't figure out exactly what they're up to, but I don't believe anything pleasant will come from their schemes." The elf scrunched his nose. "What is this stench?"

The whiff of smoke reached Tilda's nose and she made a disgusted face. The orcs were shouting and (supposedly) laughing around the fire, and now she understood why.

"Smells like scalded chicken… but worse… more like burnt leather or fur…" She brought her tied hands to her face when she realised what it meant. "They're roasting Tripsy, poor thing!"

"Tripsy?"

"Kíli's pony. He won't be happy when he finds out."

"They ate my horse, too. No wonder no beast stands to be close to them."

"At least Broda escaped."

"Broda?"

"My horse." She answered without thinking, only to quickly add. "Sigrid's horse, actually."

Legolas took that bit of information and stored in the _not important now_ file. Their survival didn't depend on it right now, and the elf knew from experience that whilst in crisis the best was to keep all his focus on actual goals. What meant _escape_ under the current circumstances. But the orcs feasting on Kíli's pony could mean some relaxing of the watch, and he would use it in their favour.

"Tilda, listen. We must act while their sentry on us is distracted by the food. I'll lose the knots on your wrists, but you'll keep your hands as if bound, right?"

"Aye. What do we do with the shackles?"

"They are gross. A hairpin will do."

"A hairpin?" The woman frowned. "And how in Arda will we find a hairpin in the middle of nowhere?"

Legolas shook his head, unbelieving of human innocence.

"My hair doesn't stay as it is by magic, does it?"

"Oh. Understood."

If her eye-roll was noticed, the elf made his best to don't show it.

"Keep watch on the sentry while I do it."

"Right."

Tilda felt him fumbling with the rope on her wrists for a little while, then the knots came loose. A quick twist and it looked like tied, at least enough to deceive an orc, anyway. The sentry made another round, not really bothering to look at them, and went to fetch more horsemeat. Legolas poked at the shackles around her ankles and quickly turned to his own. The same schema of leaving part of the chain hooked in place was used in both cases.

When it came to the shackles on his own wrists, Legolas pouted, angry at his inability to wriggle his fingers in impossible ways to reach the lock with his silver hairpin. Tilda tired of watching a sentry who ignored them and hearing her partner in crime puffing (or partner in escaping a crime, depending on the point of view).

"Give it to me, your flexibility isn't absolute."

"My fingers are longer than yours and my fine motor coordination is far finer than yours."

"Aye, and your pride is far higher than mine too, and it doesn't mean it makes you any better than me. Now give me the hairpin."

Stunned by her impeccable logic, the elf turned the hairpin over, taking over the task of watching the sentry. It disgusted him to see that filth feasting in his forest, cutting living branches from trees that cried in pain as its sap dropped to the soil like blood. To dismember some of the orcs as compensation sounded quite fair in his opinion.

"How come a princess of Dale learned how to picklock, if I may ask?"

"Well… you know, Da was arrested, the night the dragon came…" Her fingers worked around his wrists, staggering now and then. "After that... _everything_… he insisted we… me and my siblings… learn to get free in such occasion. Mister Nori is a good teacher."

"I see…" A movement at the corner of his field of vision made him freeze and warn the woman in a whisper. "Stop."

Tilda hid the hairpin in her palm, taking care to keep her ropes in place. A couple of orcs stopped just a few meters from them, each with a chunk of horsemeat in hand. They were not ostensibly watching the prisoners, but were close enough to prevent them from trying anything funny, picklocking included. Time for patience, then. At least there would be more time for the spider poison to wear off, the elf thought as an optimism shot. At least _one_ silver lining…

**=^.^=**

The trail was plain to see. Orcs didn't give a damn to stealth, and Kíli didn't need a Traditional Track the Tracker Tournament award to know where the filth was heading to. He was good at strategics. He was also good at tracking, stalking _and_ shooting. All those things shouldn't be a problem. Actually, they _weren't_ a problem at all.

The real problem was in _numbers_. Not that he was unable to math. What he was unable was to find a way to overcome fifty-two orcs and a giant spider on his own, equipped with scarcely thirty arrows, one sword and a couple daggers. Worse yet, uncertain if Tilda was alive or not.

Those were the problems he believed to have when he found the orc camp, climbed a tree like an elf and assessed the surroundings.

Sheer force wouldn't do, despite his anger. This required wits, and Kíli missed his mother dearly. _And_ patience. And he could surely do with a dozen hands to help him. Or rather a dozen dwarrow. Or at least Fíli and Dwalin. Not Thorin. He was still too angry at his uncle to consider his hypothetical help.

So, if this were a problem situation proposed by Balin in one of his lectures on decision making in conditions of uncertainty, what would be the answer less prone to result in disaster?

Collect all information available.

Break the problem in smaller ones.

Assess resources and environment.

Consider alternatives.

Set up the scenario.

Act.

**=^.^=**

The day was old, which meant the same as '_the night was old_' in orc time spreadsheet. Tilda had been unable to sleep, despite being warned that they would be marching as soon as the sun set. To munch on her share of mouldy bread was something she forced herself to, knowing she would need the strength when the time to escape came. Because there was no doubt in her mind that a time of escape would come.

Legolas had dozed off a few times, his weakened body needing it to recover from the repeated poisoning. After those few moments of respite when the sentry got his horse barbecue, they had not been left without eyes on them. Whenever he was awake, his eyes darted here and there through the trees, inconspicuous, searching.

Not the last time, the elf wished he shared in the ability to communicate without words as it was told some of the ancient ones were able. The Lady in the Golden Forest, the Lord of the Last Homely House, Círdan the Shipwright. It hurt a little, knowing those Lords had that gift and yet his father, a true King chosen by his people, didn't. Or maybe he did, yet didn't brag about it? Did, yet used it seldom and only when strictly necessary? Nah, if Thranduil had an ounce of that power, Legolas would never hear the end of it. Even in his closed quarters.

Tilda's boot connected lightly with his shin, which was as good a silent communication as any, under the circumstances. The elf looked at the woman from under his eyelashes, still feigning being poisoned, in all accounts. She quivered her chin upwards, just enough for him to notice what she was hinting up.

"_Sweet Erú_…" Was all Legolas was able to think before hell broke loose.


	38. Escape

**A.N**.: Hello, dearest readers, it a bit late but I promised myself you'd have this chapter today, so here it goes!

I thank you very much for your continued support, even when you don't have the time or the wish to drop a review please know that the read count makes my day! **Celebrisilweth**, he _counts_ on it, and won't be disappointed; **The Other Writer Girl**, _chaos_ is the precise word! **Mustard Lady**, to be level-headed with his blood boiling might be the hardest thing he ever did in his life; **Mizz Alec Volturi**, your curiosity will be satisfied in a jiffy; **pallys d'Artagnan**, I imagine this trio will work fine together, given the chance; **salwyn77**, I'm trying hard to keep my update schedule, the story is almost where it should be and I can't leave it!

**pallys d'Artagnan , salwyn77** and everyone who had a thought of well wishes for my health, thank you so much, I'm ready to conquer the world now!

Welcome **eeemkaaayy** to the boat, take a seat and have fun!

**=^.^=**

Mirkwood was an ancient forest. So ancient that Mirkwood was not its original name, just a name that stuck when things changed from Greenwood to what they were nowadays. So, its trees were ancient. At least, most of them. New growth was hard to achieve after the forest became hurt by the evil in the south. That same evil that took the fortress of Amon Lanc, casting out Legolas' people to resettle northward. Now, old trees…

When you have a very dense forest, entangled with vines and lianas, where black moss can be as dense as the natural foliage… When the darkness that spreads through the air and water darkens the very souls of the trees… The trees find death. It's a standing death, but a death nonetheless. Upheld by the younger and still healthy ones, moored by living lianas too stubborn to die, waiting for a storm angry enough to put them down. Avoided by black squirrels, ignored by giant spiders, feared by walkers of all kinds – at least, the ones smart enough to foresee a disaster where there is one.

Which didn't include orcs.

Dwarrow are a clever people. Forged by a brilliant mind, the same brightness shines in their brains. To forge is more than to heat a scrap of metal and bang on it with a hammer. There is science behind the alloys, physics in the choosing of the right temperature and the right angle to hit. Stonecraft demands knowledge on hardness, cleavage, resistance. You don't build a palace inside a mountain just hammering around. It's a kind of work that requires planning and wisdom to deal with unexpected technical features.

Kíli is a dwarrow through and through.

Of this, both Tilda and Legolas were sure when they saw the strange pattern of vines attaching old dead trees around the camp, and then noticed the sudden jerk that put the whole system in movement. If it were the top of a mountain, you'd have an avalanche. As it was, what happened around the orc camp was a domino effect of crazy proportions.

Given the right push, even the most stubborn dead tree trunk had to succumb to gravity. After hours of climbing trees and knotting vines like a maniac, Kíli used a liana loop in a living oak as a swing, gaining momentum to hit the first dead trunk with all he had. His feet ached inside his metal lined boots with the impact, but it was worthwhile. A loud crack announced the upcoming catastrophe.

The first tree wavered, resisting at first, but its own weight made it falter. The next closer ones, one living and another also dead, could do little under the weight of the massive first one. They fell. Tree after tree the ring around the clearing collapsed, several of them falling to its middle, setting the orcs into madness. Dead black moss, dry as dry can be, was licked by the flames of the orcs' bonfire, and turned into living torches, kindling the branches where they lay and those above it.

The flaming branches kindled the dry tree trunks.

In short, it was hell.

Tilda and Legolas lost no time wondering about what was happening, they saw the chance and seized it with both pair of hands. Bound hands, in Legolas' case, as they had had no chance to try to picklock the shackles since their first attempt, always one orc or two around them after the first excitement about horse meat. Yet, when the trees went down and fire spread, it was hardly time to cold-bloodedly try and open the lock. Too much adrenaline and the frightening crackle of the fire rushing towards them would prevent Tilda from steading her fingers if she even tried to do it.

Legolas didn't care, seemingly, using the chain between his hands to strangle the nearest orc and the next; to run away from the camp should be easy, he mused, with all the distraction provided by Erú knew who (despite his strong suspicions on a certain dwarf…).

And then it wasn't.

Whatever it was that moved the orcs, what dark purpose was behind their kidnapping, it woke up. Not three steps they moved and a new orc stood before them, scimitar or jagged blade in hand, cowing them to remain where they were. Suspiciously enough, most of those died with an arrow embedded in their eye, throat or heart.

Tilda's smile was blinding when she saw the first of those arrows, knowing as she did the fletcher responsible for them. Kíli explained once the pattern he used, the choice of feathers and of knots making it impossible to mistake his work for any others'. Of course someone else could use his arrows as well as him (he mentioned the ones he makes were his uncle's favourites, and not because any personal partiality), but her heart knew better.

Which didn't mean everything was going fine in their escape.

"I can't see where we're going!"

Tilda shouted between the smoke, wielding a burning branch to fend off a smaller orc.

"Keep to your left, we must be close to the edge of the camp!"

Legolas punched an orc with both fists, spun around and kicked another one into a fire. A crude blade grazed the elf's neck and shattered on the ground beside him, and an orc howled in pain, an arrow sticking from his wrist.

There was no time to cherish the bowman (bowdwarf?) as another orc shoved the howling one aside and barrelled Legolas down. Tilda's boot connected with the orc's temple, eliciting a disgusting sound of broken bones, completed by her heel crunching some facial bones. The beast laid still.

Another orc took charge, grabbing the woman from behind and shoving her to the ground. Tilda used what was left of her strength to roll, sending the orc to the nearest fire. The creature howled and scampered off, eyes shining in red.

"Run! Don't linger!"

Tilda listed a dozen things she'd say to Legolas about why, oh! why she'd linger in such an accursed site when she had a chance to escape, but she was too focused on surviving to care. Run she did.

**=^.^=**

It wasn't stone.

If it were rock, he would know _exactly_ what to do.

Yet, he had to make it do.

So, he prayed.

Maybe not so much as praying, but asking for _guidance_.

If _she_ was bold enough to make him acknowledge his feelings, _she_ should be bold enough to guide him now.

If, of course, her presence in his mind was real, not something his heart craved and his mind made up to comfort him…

Yet, if his mind had the power to make up things to ease his heart, he wouldn't have spent the last ten years suffering what he did, would he?

The orc camp was larger than he expected. By the trampling in his own camp, it could have been just a dozen, and that amount he expected to be able to deal with. Now, watching the place, it was clear it would be no easy task.

Now, what has ever been easy in his life?

He wished to be able to warn Tilda that he was close by, and that he would be acting soon. There was no way to do this without warning the orcs along. He would have to count on her wits, and luck.

To tie the trees was easy. Or, at least, the easiest part, even if it took hours. To calculate the best chain of trees had been harder, as trees aren't stones. But to calculate he did, and to hope.

After the tumbling trees were set in motion, with the added bonus of fire, Kíli used all his skill and aim to grant the prisoners the chance to escape. Legolas being there was a bonus, too, hiss prowess put to good use.

The fire was spreading faster than the dwarf would like, and the orcs acted as it didn't affect them. One after another they got to the escaping pair, one after another being beaten, strangled, hit by arrow, kicked and whatnot. It was as if something more than their own will moved them, consequences be damned. Kíli had to do something quick.

To jump head first in a fray wasn't novelty for him, and soon Kíli was handling a dagger to the running woman. His arrows were almost all spent, but in short range the sword was a better choice. The elf was using a scimitar dropped by and orc, showing how any weapon could provide severe damage once deftly wielded.

"We're almost out!"

"They're too many!"

"Keep running!"

The words were more incitement than communication, the deafening roar of the fire and shouts of the orcs. Sweat dripped from Tilda's forehead, Legolas had a smudge of ash on his face and Kíli could be taken for a wild bear, even if a small one.

Legolas had knowledge of the forest, it was _his_ home, and the forest had knowledge of _him_. Once out of the circle of fire, the same brambles that gave way for them to pass closed behind them barring the orcs. Branches bent to allow the fugitives to climb, roots snapped to trip the pursuers. For once in a long time, the elf felt things were working on his favour.

Quiet as mice, the trio waited, perched on the top of an ancient oak. Some stray orcs still ran aimlessly on the ground, fleeing from the fire. When at last no sound of chasers had been heard for a long while, the three runaways dared to smile. Legolas broke the silence.

"It was an unexpected honour to fight by your side, dwarf."

Kíli chuckled.

"I'm glad the old saying _you can never trust an elf_ is preposterous."

"My princes…" Tilda started, biting her lower lips. "What do we do now?"

Kíli turned his attention fully on the woman, his eyes serious as he caressed her face with the hand that wasn't currently holding on the tree.

"I don't believe we're totally safe yet. I trust Legolas to guide us until we are. Yet, despite anything that may to come to pass, I must talk to you. First, to apologize for my actions…" She tried to say something but he put a finger on her lips to make her wait until he finished. "And then, to tell you what I feel. I love you, Tilda, and I wish to court you, if you'll have me."


	39. A Short Respite

**A.N.**: Helo, dearest readers, here goes a bit of happy things for our favourite idiots, before things go south again. Enjoy and review!

**pallys d'Artagnan**, Legolas is totally delighted by their courtship, but might see things under a different light; **salwyn77 **and** Mizz Alec Volturi**, you'll probably love this one even better; **Celebrisilweth**, our favourite dwarf will have more in his hands than he bargained for, have faith; **Mustard Lady**, Kíli will want to make them suffer even more, be warned; **Jillian Baade**, Kíli took so long to acknowledge his feelings, now he has to rush things for fear it will fade away; **The Other Writer Girl**, a dwarf may take his time to sort things in his heart, but once it's out, it's overpowering.

Welcome to the party, **HobbitLover88**, I'd love to hear from you!

* * *

Tilda felt dizzy, but it could be due to the lack of food, tiredness from the fight and the flight. She could, maybe, blame the excess of adrenaline in her system for how fast her heart was beating. Both things could be blamed on the stress she went through the last several hours. Yet she knew it would be lying to herself.

"What?"

The confusion, or rather, incredulity in her voice made Kíli flinch, afraid her reaction was one of rejection. He should have known better than to open up in front of the elf, he should have waited for a better occasion, he should…

His fear was squelched when his retreating hand was grabbed by hers. She brought their hands closer to her chest, and Kíli could almost feel her heart beating like an apoplectic butterfly.

"You're not mocking me?"

"Mock… Never!"

His indignant claim brought a wide smile to her lips. It reached her eyes, conceding some blue light to the darkening forest.

"We'll have to talk." Tilda stated the obvious.

"We will." He agreed, with a smile of his own.

"You'll have to, but I strongly suggest this talk waits a better place and moment." Intervened Legolas, stretching his wrists in Tilda's direction. "Also, I'd hope for a bit of picklocking before I take on my chaperone duties."

"Your _chaperone duties_?" Squeaked Kíli.

"Sure." Said Legolas, as Tilda retrieved the silver hairpin and started to work on the shackles. "Doesn't a proper courtship involve someone to grant certain boundaries are not trespassed, amongst Dwarrow? I'm sure it is the case amongst Men."

"Legolas, I don't believe it's really necessary…" Tilda tried to protest.

"What? Your father would have my liver with onions if he knew I was the only one close enough to be a chaperone and didn't take on the task. And what would the people of both your two kingdoms say? We're all allies, after all, even if my father must be reminded of it sometimes."

The woman and the dwarf exchanged a meaningful look and said as one:

"We'll have to talk."

"I thought that was already settled. Now, we must move. Night approaches, our enemies go stronger."

"Won't your trees help to conceal us?" Asked the Tilda.

The elf furrowed his brows, considering how to answer.

"The trees are not mine, they're their selves; some of them are my friends, or friends to some of my people, or to my father. But since the darkness began to spread, not all trees are themselves. Some of them… changed. Some are… beyond our reach."

Kíli considered it was far more interesting to talk about _later_ and _somewhere else_, as was mentioned before things got weird.

"Our camp was ransacked, but we may find some furs and gear, maybe even some food. It was just north of the road, the orc camp was some miles south-west from it. If we're able to locate it…"

"Would it be a good move?" Questioned Tilda. "They know where our camp was, nothing prevents them from looking for us at the same site."

"Which takes us back to the same point, Legolas: would the trees help us?"

"The trees…" And here he stooped low on their branch to be heard only by his companions in fight. "Aren't trustworthy anymore. Not all of them. And you never know when a trustworthy tree shares classified information with a tree that isn't."

"So, we're in the dark?" Kíli enquired, aware of the double meaning reinforced by the waning light.

"Quite so."

"I vote for going back to the camp as soon as we may, then, see what can be salvaged, and find somewhere to hide for the night. No fire."

"Let us haste, then. Only… Tilda, can I have my hairpin back?"

* * *

After the energy spurt provided by the escapade, Legolas' health proved to be more damaged than he would like to let the others know. The equilibrium machine Kíli saw in action when the Company escaped from the dungeons inside barrels was wobbling, taking hold of branches for support when even himself, a dwarf, didn't need it. It was worrisome, and strange.

Tilda felt disquiet, every shadow a menace. Kíli's short legs didn't help, either. They had not walked a whole hour on the tree branches when it became clear they would have to change strategy.

"We must go down, before we fall to our deaths." Tilda stated, feeling defeated.

Slow and careful, they climbed down. The ground was wet, dew clinging from leaves, reminding them of how much they were thirsty.

"Through the underbrush." Whispered Legolas. "Less chance to be seen, by orc and spider alike."

"I didn't see any trace of spider when I came through the road, some weeks ago. I thought it was being kept clean."

"Aye, the road, it is. We're not on the path. The trees… are disturbed. All of them. And not only because of the fire."

It was true, and worrisome. If they had taken the right direction, they should have crossed the road already, Kíli reckoned. Yet, atop the trees there was no way to measure the distance, not for him, and he knew they had taken longer than they would have walking on safe ground. Only, the ground _wasn't_ safe.

They walked, or rather, draggled through the underbrush for about an hour or two more, trusting in Legolas sense of direction and Kíli's notion of where the camp was, or had been. When the elf stumbled and fell on his face it became clear no sense of direction was present. If he couldn't discern between up and down anymore, horizontal directions were a luxury he couldn't afford.

"Kíli, we can't go on." Tilda pleaded. "I can't see in the dark, Legolas is spent, and you…"

"I can see in the dark and I can carry him. You put your hand on my shoulder and I guide you. We must move."

The woman could hear the stubbornness dropping from his sweat, but she was a healer and used to deal with obdurate patients.

"Really? And what will I do when you drop from exhaustion too?"

"Keep watch".

"There's no sense in keeping watch if there's no way to wake up a warrior when something goes amiss."

"I'll stop before I'm spent."

"Oh, yes, you will, right now."

Kíli laid down Legolas back on the ground from where he had lifted him, this time face up, and crossed his arms, facing a very upset Tilda with her fists on her hips.

"I can't let the orcs get you again, Tilda. Do you… can you imagine how I _felt_ when I got back to our camp and… and…" Kíli pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, as if it could stop his tears. "I thought they _killed_ you, Tilda! I just found out I _love you_ and you were gone, how… how can I _risk_…"

It hit her. Tilda had been addressing her feelings for an interesting amount of time already, but if what he said was true, if he just unveiled his own feelings, it explained everything, from his strong reaction to their kiss to his stubbornness in keeping on to flee from the orcs when he was already stumbling on his own feet.

Slowly, as if trying to tame a wild fawn, she reached for his shoulders, coming close enough to kiss his forehead. A tiny sob escaped his lips, more a hiccup than a consistent sign of cry. Then the dam broke, and he embraced her fiercely, hiding his face in her shoulder and letting all his anguish wash down his cheeks.

It was unfair, Tilda thought, that she relished the strength in his arms to hold her yet didn't allow him to carry a fallen fellow; but the feel of his short beard, hoarse against her face, and the heath that emanated from him like a welcoming hearth in the middle of winter, sent all her judgment ability to Mordor, and she just allowed herself to enjoy the feeling, and everything it encompassed.

It wasn't clear who started the kiss, but it was plain that none of them wanted to stop it. Tilda carded his hair, massaging his scalp, unaware of how intimate that gesture was amongst his race. On his side, Kíli caressed her torso, her arms and back, anywhere his manners stated it was not too improper, sometimes loosing himself in touching her beardless face, so unlike a dwarrowdam yet so exciting. Yet, they had to breathe sometime, and they broke.

"I'm alive, Kíli. I'm here. And I intend to remain alive for a long time yet."

He cupped her face, lips trembling as he fought for words.

"Will… will you have me, then?"

She had no problem in finding her own words.

"That's what I wish. It is all my heart wants."

Legolas chose that moment to mumble something in his sleep, startling the couple. They looked back at each other, basking in their recently discovered joy.

"We must move our _chaperone_ to somewhere safer."

"Agreed." Tilda moved to grab Legolas' feet as Kíli pulled under his arms. "By the way, what will we tell him? If he mentions us to Da…"

"…or to Thorin…" Kíli settled the elf against a tree, nestled by its roots, and sat on the ground beside him. "We can explain our plight and ask him for secrecy, but there is no warranty that he will agree."

Tilda sat down next to Kíli, leaning against his shoulder.

"No, but we have little other choice. Even if we leave him here, risking him to be found by the orcs, it would not make him forget that he saw us and what he heard."

"And we can't possibly kill him to erase evidence without being as evil as the orcs that imprisoned you."

"Kíli, that shouldn't even cross your mind!"

"Tilda, one sad thing I learned ruling Thorin's Halls is that, if you don't consider _all_ alternatives, someone will, and will catch you unaware."

"Urgh, rulership sounds awful."

"Less than being forced into a political marriage."

"That _won't_ happen, you know."

"No, it won't." He kissed her brow, clutching her closer.

"We'll have to count on Legolas' discretion, then."

"If he doesn't grant it, we'll just move further away. I won't lose what I took so long to find."

He kissed her lips again, softly now, the desperation of almost having lost her replaced by the warmth of her reciprocity. When they parted, Tilda had a cute little smile on her lips, and the explanation for it.

"I was right when I first saw you and the Company coming out of our toilet in Lake Town."

"About what?" He asked, curious. He was in pain when they reached Lake Town, feverish, and little did he recall from that day. Her reason to smile was made clear.

"Indeed you came to bring me luck."


	40. Darkening

**A.N.**: Hello, dearest readers, I'm sorry for the delay, seems it's getting harder to post a chapter per week as I intended. I'm into university again, this time studying data science, and I fear my free time will be even less. Yet, this fic is not too far from its end, so, be happy, it will be finished!

**The Other Writer Girl, **there will be a bit more of a rollercoaster before they find everything out, those orcs were not the only ones in Mirkwood; **Mustard Lady**, **Celebrisilweth**, they'll _probably_ survive, even with Legolas' soon-to-be-found-out problems; **pallys d'Artagnan**, he can't even understand why his _chaperoneship_ is not welcome! **Mizz Alec Volturi**, amazing is to have readers like you! **salwyn77**, Legolas' journey into health may be more complicated than expected; will our favourite healer find out what ills him?

Enjoy and review!

**=^.^=**

**Darkening**

Tilda slept fitfully for a small part of the night, snuggled against Kíli's chest. Legolas was knocked out like a drunkard, worrying the healer when she woke up for her watch. At first, Kíli made his show of apologizing for waking her up, to what she just rolled her eyes.

"Not this talk again, Kíli. I had at least a bit of rest in the orc camp, whilst you were climbing trees all around to rescue me. You need your rest, too, and you know it."

He took her hand and leaned against it, thanking Mahal she was truly free from those creatures of darkness.

"Promise you'll wake me up at any of sound or sight you get. That filth might be roaming still."

"I will. I'll try to examine Legolas in the meanwhile, I'm sure that shade of green isn't a healthy colour for elves' skin."

"Beware of _where_ you examine him, I'm sure I'll beat him a different shade of green if you're made to touch him improperly in any way."

"Kíli, I'm a _professional healer_, not a dumb lassie believer of storks' stories."

"_Storks_?" He asked, uninformed of Human midwives' legendarium.

"I might tell you someday. Now sleep, you ninny wit."

"You forgot something."

"What?"

"Won't you kiss me better before I go to sleep?"

She did. Just like he kissed her good night before cushioning her with his body, granting her a warmth no campfire could match. Tilda enjoyed the novelty of kissing him for real, not just fantasies in her dreams. It was better than her fantasies. The fire of Kíli's lips tasted of desire, and their tongues played an exquisite dance that vouched a future. His hands roamed her body, respectfully yet eager at once, and the woman was sure it would be even better when the need for modesty came to an end. As soon as the danger is far enough, she promised herself.

"Good night, _amrâlimê_."

Kíli whispered into her ear when he broke the kiss, knowing it would be impossible to hide his predicament if he lost control. Better to hold back, take in deep breathes, and grant their safety before anything else took place. It had to be _right_, it had to be _perfect_, it had to be _proper_, not because of his own honour, deserter that he was, but for _hers_. She deserved it.

The dwarf closed his eyes, leaning against the tree trunk, considering in his mind everything Tilda deserved and that he _would_ provide her. Love. Respect. Patience. Safety. Pleasure. He was set to make things properly. Courting, betrothal and wedding gifts, braids and beads. He would wait until they had a cosy place to stay, and shower her in caresses and kisses before anything more daring could happen. In _her_ time, not in his.

He would know her body and worship every inch of it. He would treat her like the princess she was. He would…

Sleep overcame Kíli before any brilliant idea could be formed, but the seed was there.

In the meanwhile, Tilda caressed Kíli's temple until his breath was even, restful sleep settled to recover his tired and beaten body. She cleansed some smudges of dirt and ash on his face with her bare fingers, afraid using the dew that formed on the underbrush leaves to moisturize it would wake him up again. Sure that her favourite dwarf was asleep, she turned to her elven charge.

"Hey."

Tilda whispered, touching Legolas' face with professional attention. His skin was clammy and, despite what she claimed to Kíli about its colour, the scarce moon light filtered by the leaves wasn't enough for her to discern if it was more greenish, yellowish or simply sick gray. Tilda didn't see the caged spider bit the elf, but she was in the orc camp only one day and Legolas claimed to be trying to deceive the orcs that the venom was taking longer to leave his body. Considering his performance during their escapade, it could be considered as the truth, but his current condition denounced it wasn't the whole truth.

Legolas woke up with a start, whipping her hand from his face as if it were a dangerous… autumn leaf. His reflexes were slow, and Tilda hoped it could be blamed on his recent awakening only.

"We must move."

His sluggish words were followed by uncoordinated actions, like his legs trying to make his body to stand up whilst his hands grabbed the roots beside him.

"Legolas, wait." Tilda put a resolute hand on his chest, keeping her patient where she needed him to be. "Kíli just got to rest after a day and half rescuing us and escaping with us. Dwarrow can be dour, you know..." And here she had to put a finger on Legolas' lips as well. "…not despising elven obstinate good will, mind you; but dwarrow can be _terribly stubborn_ and he wouldn't take a break before we found a place to rest that wasn't exposed to any orc, goblin or warg _en passant_. Now he must rest and I'll address your health."

"There's nothing wrong with my health, I'm just a bit poisoned, that's all."

"Are you a healer?"

"No, but…"

"Then shut up and let me examine you."

At least he preserved some good sense, in her opinion, or had some bad experience with riled up healers. Whatever it was, she thanked Estë and proceeded to assess Legolas' state.

The dim moon light was less than she would be happy with, but it had to make do. Dismissing the colour of his skin, obviously wrong but impossible to determine, she started with his temperature. To have a dwarf close by whose natural state was like fever to a human was a bonus to her diagnosis ability, and the knowledge that elves should be like men in this aspect allowed her to judge there was probably some fever going on, yet not high enough to worry, for the time being.

His eyes held a sheen coherent with the fever hypothesis; dilated pupils could be due the lack of light, yet elves had better night vision than ordinary men, so she stored that up for further consideration.

"What are you feeling different from your customary health?" Tilda asked while assessing his pulsation at the wrist.

"Nothing."

"_Nothing_ my fishnet. What are you feeling?"

Legolas heaved a sigh and sought for an explanation of what he felt.

"You know when you accidentally hit your elbow a certain way and it feels like tiny fire ants decided to bit your arm from the elbow up and down to the hand?"

"Aye. We call it _paresthesia_. Similar to when you sleep over a bent leg and it wakes up tingling."

"I feel some of it from my neck down to my shoulders, now and then. Nothing noteworthy, but you asked for anything different, so…"

"Splendid! Now you're being helpful, really. Anything else?"

"No, don't worry. I'll keep you informed if anything changes."

His voice had lost the sluggishness while they talked, and Tilda deemed it had really been only due to waking up.

"Now, the stings."

"What stings?"

The woman resisted the urge to roll her eyes and resorted to some sarcasm.

"The ones inflicted by the spider, Mister Oblivious."

"Oh, they're fine. Completely healed, I'm sure. It's been three days since I took the last one, there's nothing to worry about."

Realising her resistance was forfeit, Tilda rolled her eyes. Why, oh why had _all_ males to be _that_ stubborn?

"Shirtless. Now." Legolas' bewildered face at her words was priceless, but she shielded her humour at it with her best business brazenness. "I've seen the tears in your shirt, I know where they are." He made to open his mouth for a reply but was cut short. "I've seen enough bare patients to not blush at your hairless torso, so… Shirtless. Now."

The elf untied the lace of his shirt, annoyed, avoiding Tilda's eyes all the while. Curiosity took the best of him.

"Why do you think my torso is hairless?"

"Sure as the Moon follows the Sun, as dwarves have beards, and as men are doomed to die, so it's reckoned that elves have no beard, do not die and follow no one… and have no trace of hair on their chests. So. Shirtless. Now."

Surrendering to her indisputable logic, Legolas obliged.

The result was less than pleasant, for both of them.

For the elf, tearing the fabric adhered to his skin was quite painful, even if he hid his grimace behind a fold of the shirt. For the woman, the sight of the pustular sting marks, in different stages of healing, made her glad she didn't have anything to eat in the previous twelve hours. She swallowed dry instead.

There were at least half a dozen sting marks, scattered all over his back. Black and purple bruises spread from them in a three inch radio, or more, fading to green and yellow as they covered more skin. Blotches of pus marked the middle of each one, and even aware elves weren't doomed to _die_ due to infection, it was obvious it hurt. How long can you live in pain when the cause of the pain doesn't kill you? Despite her vows to save lives, Tilda knew there were extremes when saving someone from suffering didn't exactly mean preserving a life. The moral dilemma was, which life was the one to be saved, the one of the body or the one of the mind? What if both couldn't be achieved?

She pressed the side of the least infected, earning a stifled grunt in response. Yellow secretion oozed from the wound.

"We should drain this and cauterize. If we only could make a fire…"

"Just drain it." Legolas demanded with a wince. "It will heal in time."

"We have nothing to bind it, or even to cleanse it properly."

"Then it won't be bound, and won't be cleansed. We must move from here as soon as possible."

"Maybe my healing supplies are still at our camp. When we reach it…"

"Aye, when we reach it we can make good use of them. Now…"

"Now you rest too." Tilda handled the shirt back to the elf. "I'll hold watch and wake you both up at first light."

"Call me first."

She frowned, but curiosity was stronger.

"Why?"

"Can't allow you two together without supervision. I'm your chaperone, after all."

She muffled a giggle. He was more than knocked out the last four or five hours, she was sure anything could have been done in the meanwhile, even considering her own inexperience.

"You're our auto-proclaimed chaperone, you mean."

"All the same. Your honour comes first."

The woman looked down at her lap, fiddling with the sigil on her cloak while he donned the tattered garment. Was it the right moment to spill the beans to Legolas? Wouldn't it be better to have this talk with Kíli awake? Would the elf support or betray them?

The elf mistook her silence for shyness and tried to comfort her, in his own particular manner.

"I can even state nothing happened whilst under my sight and have Kíli ask to court you in front of your father and Dale's court as if it were the first time it ever happened. I mean, nothing _did_ happen, did it?"

She laughed silently, not to disturb Kíli in his sleep, amused.

"No, nothing happened." Not that she didn't want it to, she added in her mind, not a bit guilty about it. "Just… I'm more worried about your spider poisoning than other issues."

"We escaped from the orcs, what else could go wrong?"

With these calming words, the elf retreated to his tree-root alcove, and went to sleep at once. Tilda spent the next few hours in silent watch, pondering about how to make Legolas help them, or at least to swear secrecy. When at last the sky was turning from black to purple, she decided it was time to wake up the lads and keep on moving.

Despite Legolas' admonishment, she woke Kíli up first, to his delight. Only a moment to hold her and share a chaste kiss, both knowing they were still in danger. Waking up the elf was another problem. The dwarf noticed her frown and asked.

"What's wrong?"

"He is feverish, more than before. Running nose, too. Like a flu."

"Elves don't get sick."

"Well, this one is."

"Legolas." He shook the elf's shoulder, less gently than Tilda. "Legolas, wake up, you don't want to be mocked by a dwarf, do ya?"

"_Adar_…" The blond mumbled, restless. Kíli shook him a bit more roughly.

"C'mon, forest fairy, we have no time for fluttering eyelids and mysterious gibberish!"

The last shaking, if not the last phrase, had the elf awake at last.

"_Ad_…" He cut his word short when finally focused on his companions. Wiping his running nose on the sleeve of his tunic, Legolas considered the surroundings. "We must go away from here. I must return home."

"So we believe, my friend. How're you feeling?"

"Cold. Too cold. And…" Here his voice dropped to a whisper. "In pain. It's the poison. I'm sure it's the spider poison."

"It might have been, previously." Agreed the resident healer. "Yet it's been days since you were poisoned last. It should be wearing down."

"It should. But the poison is the only possible cause. I must go back home. My father… My father found the counter-venom centuries ago. I must go back home."

Tilda and Kíli exchanged worried looks, nodding at each other in silent agreement.

"We will do our best. Just point the way, and we'll make it." Promised Kíli.

"But first to our camp, to retrieve anything still useful. We have no waterskin, no food, and my medicine bag may be there still."

"Aye. Northeast from here, then. Legolas, are you able walk?"

The elf stood up with a grunt, leaning against the tree trunk.

"I must be. Let us go."

Watchful for the need of steadying their sick friend at any moment, Kíli led the way, hoping against hope that they could be silent and fast enough. Silent to avoid the orcs, and fast enough to save their self-entitled chaperone. To his own surprise, not for the first time in his life, he prayed for the life of an elf.


	41. Catastrophe

**Catastrophe**: _noun_  
1\. A sudden event that causes many people to suffer. Synonym: **Disaster**  
2\. An event that causes one person or a group of people to suffer, or that makes difficulties.

Word origin: mid 16th cent. (in the sense 'denouement'): from Latin **catastropha**, from Greek **katastrophē** 'overturning, sudden turn', from **kata**\- 'down' + **strophē** 'turning' (from **strephein** 'to turn').

Source: definition/english/catastrophe

**=^.^=**

Bilbo woke up at the first signs of light, not even bothering about the discomfort of sleeping outdoors. He learned how to deal with back aches from sleeping on the hard ground and midge bites from being out in the wild ten years prior, and it wouldn't be any of them that would prevent him from going on now. A tender look at who was sleeping close to him at his right left no doubts about it.

"Let her sleep some more. The road has been hard on her."

The hobbit turned to the dwarf, addressing him with a wry smile.

"I've seen a hard road on a dwarf now and then, and I've seen her dealing with harsher things than this road. What makes her be on this road is far harder than the road itself."

Thorin sat down beside his official burglar, a chunk of way-bread in one hand and a mug of mint tea in the other.

"You have a lot of understanding for someone who doesn't have children of his own."

"So do you." Stated Bilbo.

"I raised my sister-sons." Thorin provided, mater-of-factly.

"Of course. Since their father passed away."

Bilbo almost regretted his words when he saw the pain in his friend's eyes.

"Since always, actually."

"Huh? Dís never mentioned it. I thought…"

"Aye, taking care of them became a full time thing after the accident, but we always were… very close."

"You and the lads?"

Bilbo asked more as a rhetoric question, his mind already on what he would say next. The answer, though, granted him mind food enough to ruminate the remaining of the day.

"Me and their father."

**=^.^=**

The walk through the forest was silent and gloomy. Most of the trees seemed to comply in helping them, and the trail the trio managed to tread was not as hard as Kíli found in his escapade from their camp. Part of him felt guilty about having left Tilda alone, allowing the orcs to kidnap her, yet another part conceded he wouldn't be able to fend all of them alone, and the actual rescue had been possible only due to the surprise factor.

Surprise also had been to see Legolas held captive, and his help in the escaping was undeniable. To see the elf succumb to spider poisoning was worrisome. More worrisome yet was said elf becoming worse rather than better from his poisoning, befuddling both him and Tilda. Him being befuddled by some health issue was no surprise, his chosen path was the Way of the Warrior, not the Way of the Healer, but Tild _was_ a healer, and it was clear Legolas state was not something she was comfortable with.

"Kíli, we must rest a while."

Her voice was low, proper for their need of stealth. When Kíli looked back at her, the glassy look in Legolas' eyes made clear what she meant with _must_. He agreed with a nod.

"Aye. You both, sit down and rest. I'll take a look around."

"Don't." The tired voice of the elf barely reached him. The elf was already on the ground, slightly leaned against a tree. Kíli took notice he favoured his back, propped on his arm and shoulder instead. "Stay close. There's nothing for us outside the deer path we're on. No warranty of safety."

"Legolas, we need water." Justified Tilda. "Both to drink and to cleanse your back. If Kíli finds a stream…"

"No!" It would have been a shout if the elf had strength enough. "Bad water. South of the old forest road, bad water. We've never been able to cleanse it."

Kíli frowned, remembering the accident with Bombur when they crossed the forest ten years prior.

"Like the enchanted river that brings sleep?"

"No." Was the tired answer. "That is my father's doing. South of the road…"

What it was that was south of the road Legolas was unable to say, his body trebling like a green leaf in the wind, then spasming out of some evil seizure. Both Tilda and Kíli tried to hold him, prevent him from hurting himself in the throes of the convulsion. Sweat drops the size of fresh peas blossomed out of his forehead, but they could feel his whole body damp from it. It was like a whole fever night consumed the elf in less than an hour.

"Cold… Ice cold…"

Was all he was able to mumble when the worst of his seizure wore off. Tilda unfastened the sigil of Dale and took off her cloak, using it to cover the feverish form of the elf. It was short for him, of course, but better than nothing. She knew they would have to bring his temperature down, but right now his comfort was more important.

"Kíli, hold him."

"What?"

"Hold Legolas, please. He needs the feel of warmth, even if what his body need is to be cooled down. Dwarrow…"

"Of course, our bodies are warmer than those of the children on Ilúvatar."

He felt a bit strange cradling the sick elf to his chest, but healers' orders were healers' orders, and he wasn't foolish enough to dispute. Would it be so strange if the elf in question were Tauriel instead of Legolas? Would it be so strange if the healer in question were Óin instead of Tilda? Kíli decided it didn't matter, when the purpose was to help someone of the Free Peoples and resist evil in any of its guises. He wiped Legolas' forehead with his sleeve, preventing sweat drops from reaching his eyes.

When the shivers began to fade, Tilda signalled Kíli to release the elf and retrieved her cloak. Above anything, she wished for fresh water, to cleanse his skin and finally tend his sting-wounds. And idea hit her.

"Legolas, can you hear me?"

The elf opened his eyes, tiredly, and nodded.

"We _need_ water, or anything that can be used to cleanse. You said no stream south of the old forest road is proper, but what else do you know that we may use? Some underbrush or vine maybe?"

Now it was Kíli's curiosity was picked up.

"You want to use plants to _cleanse_, not only to treat?"

"Well, it's an idea I've been trying in Dale." She tried to explain. "If we can use water boiled with medicine to clean, why can't we use the medicine plant to cleanse, as well? Like, do you know aloe?" She almost didn't expect his negative head shake to continue. "It is used to treat burns and minor cuts, has lots of water inside, looks like it's a _fat_ plant, do you know? It's hard to grow it this far north, because it doesn't stand harsh winters, but sometimes we get a wagon from the south. If I had some, I would use it to cleanse the spider bites."

Kíli furrowed his brows, thinking hard if he saw anything in the likes of it while… running away from her. Or briskly walking back to her. No need to consider when trekking the orcs to the camp, his mind was far too set on finding Tilda to notice anything around him. Which could explain, at least in part, why it was so hard to find the way back to the camp.

"Tree stonecrop."

Both woman and dwarf looked at the prostrate elf, whose eyes were half-open at best.

"Legolas? Do you know of a plant?"

"Tree stonecrop. Bush sedum. False hens and chickens."

The last name lightened a spark of knowledge in the healer's eyes.

"False hens and chickens? I know a plant by this name!"

"Grows in glades. If we can find…"

"Aye, it need more sun than regular underbrush. Thick leaves, like a finger?"

Her patient just nodded.

"I'll go find it." Kíli offered.

"No!" The elf protested, raising a hand in the dwarrow's direction. "You'll get lost. We're south of the old road. If we get separated…"

"I understand. I probably found you both only because the orc trail was unmistakable." Kíli turned to Tilda, seeking her opinion more than her agreement. "We walk together, then?"

"I think so. We can take turns upholding him, if necessary."

"Aye."

So they started a new stretch of the aimless run; actually, more a trudge than a run, but a run anyway. Hunger, pain and above all, thirst were their company, besides Legolas' unintelligible rant in some elven language.

After an hour or so, or what felt to be an age, there was break in the tree clusters, allowing the timid autumn sun to shine on the rocky soil. Mirkwood, as a matter of fact, was not completely _mirkish_, a truth few travellers had the chance to recognise because most of it was just too dangerous for someone to simply walk into it oblivious of the dangers of straying outside the path.

"We must rest."

Begged Tilda, to which Kíli agreed immediately. He had not spent any time under the _hospitality_ of the orcs, but was depleted all the same. They slowed Legolas down to the ground, trying at least to avoid any sharp rock. The jolst of landing him down was enough to bring him back to the land of the living, so to say; at least, out of the slumber-trance state he was walking most of the time.

"There!" Legolas pointed to the north border of the glade. "Tree stonecrop!"

It was true.

Forgetting her tiredness, Tilda walked to the plant, eager to collect it and make good use, thanking Yavanna for the gift of healing herbs she bestowed on Middle-earth. The leaves were thick, light green with reddish edges, forming a flower-like pattern down the stalk. Considering the damage she witnessed on Legolas' back, Tilda collected a merciful amount of stems and got back to where her elven patient sat.

"Shirtless, please."

He looked up at her with suspicious eyes.

"No. Your intended will bite my head off."

"By the Powers, we have no time for puritanism!" Kíli all but shouted. "Tilda is a healer; did you never hear that you'd never hide anything from your healer, your attorney and your wizard?"

The elf seemed to ponder Kíli's statement, with a grain (or perhaps a ton) of salt, and nodded in agreement.

Thankfully, his tunic didn't adhere to the wounds as much as before, leaking less blood from the bites than the first time Tilda made him to show the stings. Taking in a deep breath to steady herself and do what had to be done despite any sign of pain of her patient, the young healer began her work.

She crushed the fat leaves of the healing herb to wash the grime and pus from the elf's back. Pressing as much as she dared in order to drain the foul-looking bites, she tried to ignore Legolas' shudders, and focused on the final result.

After what felt an age, the bites were clean, as much as possible with the scarce resources available. It was not much respite, lack of food and water taking its toll, but Tilda hoped her patient would feel better from then on.

A fool's hope.

Shudders took his body and she feared another convulsion. Was the fever back?

"Legolas, are you feeling cold again?" She asked to improve her diagnosis.

"No!" He all but shout, wiping his running nose. "Hot! I'm burning! I'm burning in fire!"

A wrist to his brow stated a clammy, cold skin. Too cold for her taste.

"He's freezing." Tilda whispered to Kíli.

"This is nonsense. He was burning in fever a moment ago."

"State it yourself. Here."

Tilda grabbed his hand and put it against the elf's brow.

"Is he dead already?" He whispered back to her.

"Not yet."

"I heard this, dwarf!"

"Was it the plant you used?" Kíli questioned the healer, ignoring the patient.

"Impossible. False hens and chickens is used for burns and cuts, it shouldn't meddle with his temperature while used outside only." She assessed the pulse in Legolas' neck, worried. "I simply can't fathom what's happening in his body."

Her doubts were cut short by a whimper, the closest to a cry Legolas allowed himself to utter. They could see the muscles on the elf's back contorting and knotting in pain.

"What if the plant is toxic for elves? I heard some herbs used by hobbits can be dangerous to dwarrow."

"Kíli, it was Legols himself who pointed out the plant, it can't be wrong."

"Is he a healer, too? A herb-lore master, perhaps?"

Stunned by the tone of his voice, Tilda faced the dwarf from the top of her indignation.

"He's a warrior just like you, Kíli! Are you doubting he possesses the basic ability to know a plant that grows in his own home-forest that can be used to tend cuts and scrapes?"

"I'm doubting nothing, I'm only stating he's getting worse rather than better, as is plain to see!"

"Do you need to _shout_ to state such a thing?"

"I'm _not_ the one shouting here, _milady_!"

"Oh, no, _milord_, you're only the one _jealous_ of me tending to someone else here, it seems!"

"What? Listen here, I'm _not_…"

What Kíli was _not_, Tilda was unable to hear, as his ramble was cut short by the piercing pain of a sting in his back, followed by her own scream as she watched the dwarf she loved being lifted from the ground by a silky rope.

Her own scream was short-lived, supplanted by pain when her own shoulder received an unmerciful dose of spider poison. Through cloudy eyes, she was still able to see the spindly legs of a spider rolling Legolas in a cocoon of web.

**=^.^=**

**More notes**:  
**BlondiezHere**, I have no words to thank you for all the reviews and support; this Kíli/Tilda story is far simpler than the fantastic work you're sharing, but I'm happy we are on the same ship! And, yep, (ch. 17) Thranduil is very rude, based on his behaviour towards the Company; yet, there's still time to change things, even for an elf. Bilbo may, eventually, find out (ch. 19) creativity is _everything_. Of course, _if_ he's smart enough and musters a bit of courage. Beware, if _all_ trees were ok with Legolas, he would be in far less trouble (ch. 38). I swear to you, it _was_ to be a short fic, but things just couldn't be told without the due depth, so, here I am, almost a whole year after the first post. Although, I still believe there are just four or five chapters left to finish it (I'm telling this myself for the last twelve chapters at least…) (ch.40).

**Mizz Alec Volturi**, it may be a bit more complicated than that. Consider things that can put someone to a drugged sleep and you may find the source of the problem.

**Mustard Lady**, Kíli is a cute piece of candy, when he only gets the chance to show his true nature, and also a remarkably warrior and anything else someone needs. I'd keep him in my pocket if I could. **Celebrisilweth**, there are worst things than spider poison to be considered, it might just not be obvious yet. Welcome on board and have a nice trip, **maryb1439**! I'd love to hear from you, I try my best to answer all reviews, they make me really happy and motivated! 


	42. From Nightmare to Waking Hell

**A/N:** Hello, dearest readers, my schedule with three teens at home is definitely NOT being kind to me, or to my ability to write. But here it goes, and a sugar cube to anyone who finds out the name of the charging horse…

More notes at the end of the chapter, especially for my lovely reviewers!

From Nightmare to Waking Hell

Along most of the daily rides, Bilbo used to stay near to the ones closest to him. Not that he avoided the Rohirim or Dale folk, it was just… too much changes in his life in recent times had been straining his Baggins portion and he just _needed_ some resemblance of control on his life. Riding after, a.k.a. _hunting_, a prince, and then a princess, and _then_ an orc pack, was _nothing_ like having any kind of control on his life. Moreover, when after gathering up courage to ask a dwarven princess for the honor of courting her, her insufferable brother starts to make advances he waited _a decade_ to happen.

Or, maybe, he just didn't see it before?

What if Thorin's affection was there all along and he just didn't see it?

"_Nah_!" Thought Bilbo. "_I'm just imagining things. It's not as if Thorin grabbed me at the top of the Carrock as if I were the best piece of cake in his life. Or as if he always stood between me and Beorn as if shielding me from that bear of a man. Or as if…_"

He counted the many occasions when Thorin's actions, or even just his smile, were enough to make his knees to weaken. And yet only _now_, only when he found his courage to ask Dís, "_And she agreed!"_, Bilbo pointed out to himself, did the unbearable dwarf show, dubiously as you could wish it, any kind of…

His musings were cut short by the sound of hooves on the dirt road. One of the scouts was coming back ahead of scheduled time, which could only mean news. Good or bad, was yet to be seen. It was the man of Dale who told the story of the fisherman and the fairy some nights before.

"There's a rider coming this way, my king!"

He declared to Bard, who was riding along his son-in-law Dunwine and Thorin in the forefront of the party. Bilbo watched both kings tensing, and looked at Dís, who rode at his side. The dwarrowdam's eyes narrowed to a slit and her hand reached for the axe fastened to her pony's saddle.

The hobbit swallowed dry and unsheathed Sting just an inch from its scabbard. No sign of blue, which was a relief, but then he almost kicked his own ass mentally when he considered no horse or pony would willingly bear an orc. No orc was it then, at least.

"Are you sure?" Demanded always doubtful Thorin.

"How far do you deem it?" Asked more pragmatic Bard.

Curiously enough, Dunwine just dismounted and put a bare hand on the ground, whilst holding the other up in a sign commanding silence.

A few minutes passed by, with the Rohirrim quiet as mice and signaling the others to keep quiet too. Bilbo was impressed on how the steeds of Rohan kept quiet as their masters, making him to compare the horses of Dale and even the ponies of Erebor to misbehaved fauntlings unable to follow their elders' biddings.

Dunwine turned his attention back from the ground to the ones nearby.

"There's no rider coming."

"Sorry, Lord Dunwine, but I'm sure I heard the hooves!" The man of Dale spluttered, indignant of his skill being put to question.

The Marshal of Rohan stood up to his six-feet five-inches of toned muscle and faced down the man.

"I'm sure you heard hooves, my good fellow, and I don't dispute it. Yet, what I'm saying is that there is no rider, not that there is no horse."

"What do you mean?" Asked Bard, unable to use the given information to quell his worries.

"The pattern is different." Explained Dunwine. "The stride of a horse is like a song. My people say it's Béma's part in the Song of Creation. A horse led by a rider has a certain kind of… _rhythm_, doesn't matter if trotting, cantering or galloping. A horse that rides free sounds… different." (1)

Not a moment passed from the explanation and the horses of his entourage took peculiar stances, as if waiting for something, or someone. Dunwine's stallion, more than the others, straightened up, nostrils flaring. Bilbo could only watch in disbelief of what he could only classify as consciousness of the strong equines.

"_Ablinnan_!" (2)

The leader of the Rohan riders shouted, and the neigh of a distraught horse was heard from the dark road before them. The searching party waited, expectantly, for what was to come.

It was a beautiful hazelnut horse.

And it was charging.

**=^.^=**

Kíli opened his eyes to a ton of grains of sand under his eyelids. His whole body ached, but his back ached more. A specific place in his back, more precisely. He couldn't recall hitting his back onto anything that could give him such pain, and yet…

"Tilda!"

His voice was muffled, but he only noticed it after calling her out irresponsibly. Several layers of soft silky thread around his head explained it. It explained also why he was unable to move, no matter how hard he tried. The dwarf recalled what happened to him, to them, and gritted his teeth to keep despair away.

They had been captured.

"Tilda…"

It was more a soft mutter now, eyes moving from side to side searching for the woman.

He found an elf instead.

"Legolas!"

Said elf opened his eyes, but he was not there. A drugged stare greeted the dwarf, the shadow of a smile haunting the corner of his lips that wasn't covered by spider web.

"Legolas, how can we escape?"

The elf looked from side to side, up and own, and side to side again. Sometimes a maniac smile crossed his stance, but alas! Elves. Kíli didn't expect much more than this, based on his prejudices.

"We're tied. How can we escape?"

Actually, Kíli _did_ expect at least a bit more than this.

"Aye, that's what I asked. Anyway. Do you see Tilda?"

"Tilda…" The elf looked around as if seeing the spirits of the trees around them, or other beings unfathomable to mortal eyes. "The mortal is close to you. Stop struggling against what is inescapable and you'll know."

The talk about _inescapable_ things didn't quite settle in his stomach, but Kíli relegated it as side effect of spider stings. He could tell he himself wasn't completely sane after the poisoning, so, knowing Legolas had been poisoned more than once… Yet, how to stop struggling if he didn't even know _how _he was struggling?

The elf seemed to know what disturbed the dwarf.

Breathing deep, focusing on being one with the stone under his feet… Doesn't matter how deep bellow the ground the stone really was…

She was there.

Just behind him.

Both cocoons of silken thread tied and hung as one from whatever Mordor-damned tree some orc or whatever creature could imagine.

"Would it be too hard to say she is just behind my back?"

"You claim to love her, was it really that hard to sense her so close to you?"

For once Kíli was glad he was trapped by spider web, else he would strangle the insufferable elf for sure.

"Is it too hard to skip all this chaperone thing and focus on all of us escaping this Mordor-damned spiders? You know, you'll have none to chaperone-pester if we're all dead."

"Oh."

The dwarf was almost sure it was a façade the elf was using to hide his own predicament, being caught by spiders _twice_ in so a little time, but the faraway gaze in Legolas' eyes told of another story.

Kíli decided to act instead of talking to a stoned elf.

There wasn't much he could move, feeling more a worm than a dwarf, but being on the ground was better than the first time those spiders caught him and the whole Company, ten years before. Also, after sensing Tilda was just behind him, his efforts were more focused, even if all he could do was to wriggle inside his cocoon of silk trying to bang his head against Tilda's.

After some effort, a low moan was his prize.

"Tilda? Tilda!"

"Hmmm?"

"Tilda, can you talk to me?"

"What…? M'a sleepy…"

"Tilda, we were…"

The slap of an iron gloved hand to his face interrupted his explanation followed by a harsh voice.

"Now, now… Little birds are prone to chirp, huh? I'll have none of this!"

The orc (for an orc it was, undoubtedly) grabbed Kíli's head and forced it backwards to just bare of snapping.

"Burzurg and his cohort was a band of fools. M'a professional. Ye won't escape that easily again."

Kíli felt a snap just above his head, and fell to the ground. The thud of his body connecting to the layer of leaves on the soil was followed by two more, namely Legolas and Tilda.

"Kraag! Tooka!" The harsh voiced orc shouted out. "Free their legs. None will carry the immolation to their final destiny. Let the blood be bitter."

**=^.^=**

**=^.^= =^.^= =^.^=**

(1) Béma: Rohirrim word for Oromë, huntsman and horseman of the Valar.

(2) Old English for 'stop', according to "www dot majstro dot com" Old English Dictionary, in the absence of the practical Rohirrim-English (Westron) dictionary I wasn't able to find.

**More Notes**:

**Blondiezhere**, Bilbo is more unwilling to see the truth than really blind; our wayward children are just one step closer to doom, but I promise a happy end;

**Mizz Alec Volturi**, I'm really happy you liked it, there are more to come!

**Jillian Baade**, consider Legolas has been repeatedly poisoned, it makes all the difference in this plot; also, I'm sorry I didn't see your reviews had to be moderated, I think I lost them…

**Celebrisilweth**, on the way, der, on the way…

**Salwyn77**, I'm updating as soon as I can, I swear!

**Mustard Lady**, I hope he won't take offense, it's just a way to say we want someone always close to us! And, about if things can possibly get any worse… consider my ability to make them suffer before the happy end might or might not be improving with time. Thranduil has his issues against dwarves, but I don't believe he is really _that_ bad; **ThatOtherWriterGirl**, yep, life is a thing, isn't it? I can relate… Now, Legolas may simply being stubborn and not admitting his pain, side effects of his upbringing, I suppose, and his current situation definitely doesn't help; Tilda and Kíli deserve so much! Mess will be fixed, have faith! **Dis Thrainsdotter**, I'm so happy to hear from you again! Thank you so much for your patience! Legolas is currently more in need of aid than in condition to aid anyone, but remember Thranduil already found out his son is missing; Welcome on board and have a nice trip, ** .sneel**! I'd love to hear from you, I try my best to answer all reviews, they make me really happy and motivated! 


	43. Hell

**A.N: **Hello, dearest readers, this chapter took a little more time to finish but the scenes in Kíli's mind just came and came and I couldn't ignore them. So, even if the chapter is late, at least it's a bit longer than I was being able to achieve.

Yep, I use personal the pronouns 'he' or 'she' when writing about an animal that is known to someone. Throw me stones if you will.  
More notes at the end of the chapter, especially for my cherished reviewers – I hope you are all healthy and well cared for, in the safety or your homes.  
But… **Mustard Lady**, you got it!

Hell (497+2555)

"_Ablinnan_!"

Dunwine shouted to the raging horse, at the same time gesturing it to halt and preparing to act. His second-in-command already held his leader's stallion by the reins, and the other equines were dealt as well as their riders could.

Which could or could not mean Bilbo was in dire straits, and that Thorin wasn't or was indeed keeping the hobbit's pony in check , singlehandedly, whilst trying not to fall off his own beast.

As the whole searching party was busy with their own horses and ponies, expecting what the Rohirrim marshal would do, none was really paying attention to anything beside the thunderstorm on hooves approaching. So, if keeping Bilbo's horse in check included holding the hobbit by his waist or not, none ended the day any wiser.

Dunwine's stallion pranced slightly, neighed with a bugling ring, and then stood still, ears pricked forward. More a captain angry with his subordinate than an ordinary horse waiting for something to happen. Then, to happen it did.

"_Ablinnan_!"

The repeated shout was answered by a loud neigh of the hazelnut horse, confused hooves undecided if to follow the momentum that urged them ahead or to obey the voice that commanded them to halt.

Some dry leaves on the ground were all it took to make the horse glide, careen and almost topple right in the middle of the narrow road. Dunwine had the loose reins in his hands in no time at all, a sure leap landing him on the saddle and muscular thighs holding the beast tight between them. Some more imposing words in Rohirric had the equine finally (almost) still, nickering, yet with his ears flicking back and forth. The marshal's stallion stepped forward, touching noses with the newcomer.

Soothing words had it still at last, and Dunwine dismounted.

"That was reckless!" Demanded Thorin, dismounting his own pony. "All the horses and ponies could have bolted!"

"But they didn't, did they?" The marshal answered with a proud smile, caressing the neck of the hazelnut horse. "And now we have information!"

"What?"

"How?"

Were some of the questioning words said at the same time by more than one man and dwarf. And a single hobbit, just for the record.

Dunwine allowed the nervous horse to touch noses with him too, and then to rest his head on the man's shoulder, eyes closed as if finally finding some peace. Carding the stallion's mane, the marshal stated to his fellows.

"This good lad here is Broda, whom we believed to have been stolen. I gifted him to my wife at our wedding. Whatever he's carrying, besides his proper saddle and reins, will tell us something. Also, his eyes have seen things we didn't, and he can show them to us."

"Like what?" Asked Bard, hoping beyond hope.

"Like where he escaped whomever stole him, if stolen he was. Or where he escaped your younger daughter's kidnaper, if it was the same person. Let us peruse Broda's saddles."

**=^.^=**

To be shoven onto a pile of wood was not the most comfortable thing even happened to them, but it was also less hard than to being piled with other luggage at a rocky corner of the path, as had been the usual since their capture. Instinctively, Kíli put his hands up to prevent Tilda's head to hit a log behind them, but she was too limp to anything make a difference, which worried him.

"Tilda." Kíli waited a minute to whisper again. "Tilda, can you hear me?"

"Hmm?" She moaned, tilting her head toward his shoulder. "Are we home?"

"No." He regretted to inform. "Tilda, we're still captive. Can you hear me? How do you feel? Please talk to me!"

"Wh.."

Her eyes widened with realisation as her mind flew back to consciousness, and her mouth shut up. The orc camp frightened her, as it should, and she tried to scramble backwards. Everything she saw with her waking eyes was worse than her recent nightmare, and Tilda shut her eyelids in a vain attempt to gain some time before facing reality.

"Shh… I'm with you…"

It was not much comfort, as he was shackled up like her, but last recent times it helped to keep her from shouting, and being quiet seemed to be best for their health. At least, kept most of the beating away, and he would be glad for preventing her to take any more slap, punch or lash he could.

"Ahn…" Tilda tried to keep quiet, but a swelling eye prevented it, and a small moan escaped.

"Tilda, we're doing this together. I'm with you. Are you with me?"

It was not a real question, but a tactical one. A long as he could keep her sane, they'd have a chance. If he lost her…

The dwarf was not ready to consider that option, so he ignored it.

The woman took in a deep breath, and heaved it out slowly, so very slowly. How many times did she use it to calm her patients, to help them to deal with overwhelming pain, fear or tension. To smell a flower, to blow out a candle. Once. Twice. Once more. Until her eyes focused again, until who she was became more real than the circumstances she was in.

"I am."

Kíli let out a breath he didn't notice he was holding. Which showed either how much strain he was under the last days or how much he cared for Tilda's wellbeing. Or both.

Most probably, both.

"Are you in pain?"

"I'm the healer here, Kíli, it's me who should be asking this, not the contrary."

Their conversation was held in quiet whispers.

"It doesn't take a healer to worry about the one you love."

He tried to touch her chin with his bound hands, knowing her cheek would be too hurt for any contact to be comforting. She half nodded, half rested her chin on his fingers, seeking reassurance as well as assuring him his care was welcome. How hard was it to deal with a freshly discovered passion when they couldn't as much as exchange a caress!

"My eye still hurts." Tilda stated, keeping her voice as low as possible. "It could get better with some ice, or some eyebright, or even chamomile. But I doubt our lovely hosts would provide us some." The woman got silent for a moment, surveying the surroundings to make sure it was safe to keep talking. "And you?"

"Oh, my eyes are fine, thank you." Kíli answered, nonchalantly. Then he supplemented, before she could clarify her question with a '_You know what I mean, insufferable dwarf!'_ as her one-eyed glance promised. "My side and legs hurt, but not as much as yesterday. At least they're not bleeding."

"Your back…"

"Oh, nothing remarkable. A few stitches will make the tunic as good as new."

"And how many stitches to your skin?" Tilda whispered, the closest to angry she could be to him. "If it festers I'll just bit every orc's nose out until I feel revenged for you!"

"Don't." The dwarf warned. "Last time you bit one of their noses out they slammed your face onto a tree trunk, and your eye is swollen since then. Don't take more chances. When we are free and you're able to smile again, I want it to be with all of your teeth in due place."

He said _'when'_, not '_if'_ they'd be free again, and it didn't go unnoticed by the woman. And yet…

"I know. I want to see you smile again, too. But they beat you so hard… my teeth were the only weapon I had! I couldn't comply, they were punishing you like they did and…"

"Shh, shh… Don't let them hear us."

Tilda swallowed dry. The orcs had not given them a single sip of water since they had been captured. Last time they had been caught talking it meant no food too. Their starved bodies could not afford it, and she knew.

"They were flogging you. How could I _not_ react?"

The woman _had_ a point. It was hard for him, too. He had been the first to command the trolls to drop Bilbo, had he not? Despite being alone and unsure if his uncle and the remaining of the Company would come to any kind of rescue… What would have become if Thorin had just said '_no_' to the endeavour? The Longbeard king in exile was not very fond of the Halfling at that time, not that Kíli was aware. But he trusted Fíli would come back, at least.

"Amrâlimë…"

The dwarf called her by the Khuzdul endearment, but had to fight for words afterwards. How could he demand Tilda to preserve herself when…

_The river sent the barrels crashing like ice cubes in a Forge Fire drink cup, in what could maybe be made into a sport in more peaceful times, but not yet. Both elves and orcs shoot their bows at him and the remaining of the Company, with special attention to Durin's line, for all he knew. Their burglar managed to smuggle them out of the dungeons, but how could the Halfling foresee the blockage to their river-ride? Yet it was there, a bridge over the troubled waters, guarded by well armoured and armed elves, ready to kill him, his family and his friends, as if they were mere thieves. Actually, even thieves had more forgiveness amongst his own people, if Nori's presence in the Company was anything to go about._

_But he could see the lever, and how it worked. If it closed the sluice gates, it should be able to open them again, if Fíli's kind of logic was due to this elven artefact. So, if he knew how the lever worked and what had to be done for the Company to get free…_

It cost him a shot in the thigh, and almost his live due to poisoning, but it had been worth it.

"You could not." Tilda shot her one-eyed doe gaze to him, as if waiting for further clarification, which came with no delay. "Because we are the same."

She heaved out a sigh, as if his backing were utterly necessary to retrieve Tilda from her misery. It was _guilt_, and Kíli knew it. First hand.

_It was cold, icy cold atop Ravenhill. He felt guilty for leaving Uncle Thorin and Dwalin to deal with a hundred goblins on their own, despite knowing they were more than capable. He followed Fíli to the ruins of the guard-post, only to see his brother fall from its heights. He should not be so innocent as to believe they could split inside the enemy's hideout with no consequences. It could have been Fíli's death, and it would have been his fault. His beloved brother lived, Mahal knew how, and after several months of daily efforts and otherworldly determination, he managed to walk again. He would probably be known to future generations as _Fíli the Hobbler_, which would be better than _Fíli, the deceased Heir_, but if Kíli just were there to fight along his brother… _

"You and me, Tilda, are prone to go to extremes for the ones we love. But right now we must ponder our will to fight with what our fight will actually achieve. A brave corpse will do no good to our future together."

And he knew it. When he was almost out of breath under the smothery grasp of Bolg, black and golden dots fluttering before his eyes, it was the bravery of Tauriel that rescued him. Her prowess also meant her death. And for her death, and his survival, he felt guilty, and that guilt haunted him every day of his life since then. He would not forgive himself if Tilda met the same fate as Tauriel. It would be unfair, to say the least. He would rather throw himself between any of them and danger than to be guilty of his One's demise. Again.

"I must confess… I don't have much bravery in me anymore. M'a thirsty, hungry, exhausted, bruised… I just want it all to end…"

She would have shed a tear if there were water enough in her body to grant it. As it was, just a dry sob managed to find its way to her throat.

"We will escape, Tilda. Trust me. We did it once, we'll do it again." He tried to find any other topic to divert her mind from their predicament. "How is our elf?"

The healer inside the captivated woman resurfaced in an instant, as soon as required. Just like she used to wake up at the minimal whisper of '_master healer_' when she was working in the Healing Houses and someone called her from the short naps Óin or Hilda allowed her or the other apprentices to take during their shifts.

"No sign of fewer or hypothermia since we've captured." She informed, and then presented her less than rational musings. What was there to be lost, anyway? "It's almost as if the spider poison soothed him. Have you ever seen something like this?"

"Nay…" He mumbled after a little thought. "We have not this kind of spider in the Blue Mountains. And I don't know how elven bodies work, obviously."

"Aye, that might be the main problem. I've worked with men and dwarrow, but the elves that visit us are never sick."

Tilda pushed Legolas' arm with an elbow. He had been walking in a kind of trance state they learned was usual for elves to be instead of fully sleeping, when a rightful sleep wasn't possible. Now that they stopped he seemed to be beyond trance, if his snore was to be taken into account. A second push was needed to wake him up, though.

"Legolas…"

"I'm here."

His words didn't match his forlorn gaze. Actually, if someone wanted to depict someone who _wasn't_ there, the elf's face would be the perfect model.

"We too. And we must get away from here. How're you feeling?"

"Sick."

The woman and the dwarf exchanged a meaningful look. _Never sick_ as an adjective automatically applied to elves was past reality, and they had to reckon it.

"Legolas, we must find a way to escape. We need you to cooperate. You know this forest better than any of us. Where are we? What can we use in our advantage?"

The dwarf urged his companion in misfortunes to rationalize, to make his brain _work_, and hoped it would go better than last tries. At least the elf seemed to be getting better, it only puzzled Kíli that he had been having such a harsh time overcoming the poison when he himself and Tilda were quite fine after two days.

The elf closed his eyes. After some time his two enquirers were in doubt if he was meditating or sleeping again, but kept their silence. It would do no good to interrupt their chaperone, even if none of them were thinking about the need of a chaperone at this point. They barely exchanged whispers, or a fleeting caress with iron bound hands. The state of dirt their captors left them inspired no closer interaction, too. If they allowed no water to drink, what about water to any other need? They felt dirtier than the orcs themselves.

At last, Legolas uplifted his eyes again, but the haunted look it provided was no comfort to his friends.

"We're in the narrows of the forest. Many miles south of the Old Forest Road you wished to travel, and too many miles closer to Dol Guldur than anyone would wish to be. We must escape soon, or not escape at all."

"I feel weak, but we won't get stronger with little food and no water." Tilda stated the obvious, making Kíli remember his brother. "What do you suggest?"

"We keep looking for chances. Even if…"

The faraway look was there again. Haunted, hurt. So many times defeated he could not confide in his own strength anymore.

"If _what_, Legolas?"

"They're sworn to take us to Dol Guldur. They'll die before we escape. It's not simple dedication, it's fear. There's a mightier power at work, it wants our death and will have no excuses from our captors."

Kíli frowned.

"Then why don't they kill us at once? Not that I wish for them to hurry, but… Is it for ransom? To questioning, inquisitioning?"

Legolas shadowed his eyes, worrying what his companions in captivity would make of it. To know the facts for himself was one thing, but to expose it to mortals worried him. Mortals were prone to panic. Yet, to deny them the information would be counterproductive.

"They need our blood." The elf looked at both dwarf and woman before continuing. "As an offering, a ritual to bring back one of the accursed _Nine_, the mannish ring-wearers of old, the Enemy's most feared allies."

"They were destroyed thousands of years ago!" Countered Kíli. "In the Siege of the Dark Tower. So was their dark master, so legends tell."

"How… How do you know it?" Asked Tilda, chin trembling with horror. Even as a little girl in Lake Town she had heard about those terrible beings, but believed them a story to scare misbehaved children. "How can you be sure?

Legolas heaved a sigh, pondering how much to tell, and how. Also, keeping quiet enough so the orc pack wouldn't hear them.

"Tilda, the Black Speech is the foulest language I'm acquainted to, but to know what your enemy speaks is quite useful. I heard their leader talk… No need to tell you the whole conversation. It was disgusting." The elf turned to the archer. "Kíli, it is no legend. My father was there, my grandfather was slain in the Battle of Dagorlad. How is this that the dead don't care to remain dead is yet a mystery to me, but around the time your people came to reclaim your mountain it was rumoured to be a Necromancer in Dol Guldur. If this Necromancer is back, he might be the one trying to arise the servant of the Dark Lord."

"And why do they want our blood?"

Legolas turned his eyes down and translated the words he heard from the orc leader.

"_The blood of three princes to bring back one king_."

** =^.^= =^.^= =^.^=**

**More Notes**:

**pallysd'Artagnan**¸Legolas has a long way to find his health again, but you're right, he's adorable all the way! And things are going to be far, far worse…

**Mizz Alec Volturi**, I'm trying really hard to update more frequently, I swear on Durin's beard!

**Mustard Lady**, albeit the Mirkwood elves being known as "more dangerous and less wise", they're still _fair people_, and not evil. I can't stand the idea of Thranduil being simply _bad_. The movies portrayed him according to the need to show an adversary to the dwarves, but I believe him far deeper than what was shown to us. 


	44. What a Horse has to Say

**A.N: **Hello, dearest readers, I have no excuses for this late update but that my life has gone crazy with three teens locked in for over two months. I imagine some of you can relate, and hope you are all safe and at home until this plague ends.

**Child of Dreams**, thank you so much for warning me about the formatting, I don't know how it happened, but thanks to you I was able to fix it fast.  
Welcome on board, **Mary Beth Darcy**, and have a nice ride!

More notes at the end of the chapter, especially for my cherished reviewers!

**=^.^= =^.^= =^.^=**

What a Horse has to Say

Dunwine finished his report, and Bard was not happy.

Not at all.

How could he?

An angry shout was followed by a succession of arrows aimed at a poor hollow in an oak tree. All of them true, obviously.

When all his arrows were spent, Bard knelt, bow loosely held in his hands, target of his sad stare.

It could be a fellow king to come to his side.  
It could be a mother who lost a child to the same fate.

It would be expected.

But no!

It _had_ to be a hobbit bachelor to confound his wits.

"Bard."

"Go away."

"No, I won't. You know this."

"What. Do. You. Have. To. Say?"

Every word was punctuated by an arrow retrieved from the guiltless oak tree hollow.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Actually, I'd have something to ask. Or, better saying, something I'd like you to ask yourself." The hobbit turned his head like and owl before completing. "If I may be so bold, of course."

Bard surrendered at the apparent innocence of the Halfling, daring to approach him when he was obviously upset. But then, if he and his dwarven companions didn't shy form his bad mood after all that happened ten years ago, nothing would move them to reason. Ever.

"Ask away."

Bilbo observed the man reserve his arrows for future use, glad it looked like the future use seemed far enough to not include his own person into the intended targets. Pursing his lips and sticking has hands in his pockets (you never know when it might be useful…), he asked at last.

"Are you really sure Dunwine is right? I mean, it is not as if a horse can really _talk_ to someone, is it?"

Bard sighed and concluded the halfling was actually innocent, at least with regards to Rohirrim and their horses.

"Bilbo." The bowman deigned to look at the hobbit. "If someone on this blessed Middle-earth is able to understand what a horse has to say, it is a person from Rohan. Besides, it was not _exactly_ something the horse _said_. It's the _things_. The saddle, the camp kitchen, the rations, even the saddlebags, for Ilúvatar's sake, where right the ones pertaining to Sigrid's horse! If it was _stolen_, it was stolen from inside _my house_. Under_ my nose_. And Dunwine's, by the way. By my younger daughter. Most probably with the help of her sister, Dunwine's _wife_ and _my_ daughter too. The one always accounted for as the responsible one, by the way. Should I _not _be upset? I wonder how Dunwine isn't as upset as me, considering Sigrid's part in the act."

"I still don't know how can you be so sure. Any kidnapper could steal those things, couldn't they? If those things were stored close to each other, I mean. "

"Really? _Exactly_ Broda's saddle and saddlebags? With Tilda's clothes folded neatly as only a healer obsessed with orderliness would do, with Tilda's healer satchel furnished to the brim?"

"Well…"

Bard stuck the last arrow in the quiver, resolute, while the hobbit dandled on the balls of his large feet, considering the obvious was a hard candy to chew. He liked the human girl. Obviously, he only had memories of her from ten years ago, a smart and curious lassie holding a doll with red woollen hair and a green dress.

Then Bilbo asked the question that hit the mark.

"What terrified her away?"

**=^.^=**

Tilda swallowed dry, but tried to find a way to reason with the unreasonable. The elf told her the orcs planned to take them to Dol Guldur as soon as she was caught, but this development was even worse.

"Well… Does it mean they got a wrong person, here? I'm supposed to be a princess, not a prince, at least by what I checked last time…"

Her hope was drown in a minute by Legolas' explanation.

"Sorry, but it does not. Their language is crude, besides foul, and most nouns make no distinction between male and female. What they want is royal blood, period."

The woman withered under the weight of the information. She knew she was doomed when they first caught her, with that talk about _prizes_, and anyway there would be no means for her to try to get away without both her companions in captivity. Kíli, for the obvious reasons, and Legolas, because not only was he a friend, but also a _patient_, and she would _never_ leave a patient to die, would she?

"Then we must deny them what they want." Tilda muttered, determined.

"You can bet my beard, darling mine." Kíli squeezed her hand, lightly so as not to hurt her already bruised skin. "Legolas, what more can you tell us about… our surroundings, and the place they want to take us? Anything can be useful."

"I don't have knowledge about it personally." The elf looked down, concealing his hurt. "After my grandfather died, my father left Amon Lanc and established our realm northwards, where you know it to be. I know about our former fortress from books and records. How much it might be changed is unknown to me."

"I recall Gandalf talking about the Necromancer, after the retake of our homeland. Actually, he was talking to someone else; everybody deemed me to be completely knocked out and nobody pays attention to comatose persons."

"And…?

"Shh…"

Legolas hushed his friends as soon as he noticed movement on the orcs' part. Feigning to be asleep was not hard, not with how much they all were tired, anyway. The sentry passed them without a second look, leaving them to their misery. When the sound of his steps faded, the elf stirred his friends with a movement of his wrists. They were all tied together, rusted chains complicating any kind of individual act. Most embarrassing, counting a female amongst them, but Khorz (at least, it was what they understood the orc leader was called) cared little to nothing about their wellbeing or modesty.

Kíli stirred from his fake sleep in no time at all.

"There is a concealing magic at work. Gandalf knew some magic to disrupt it, but we don't, so we can't count on our senses to know if there's someone or not. When he was held in a dangling cage, he saw the fortress had many levels, turrets and pinnacles, but not all of them were used, I can't tell why."

"I recall some drawings of the fortress." Legolas conceded, avoiding to mention he spent a significant amount of hours (more precisely describable as days; or _years_, to be precise) studying his grandfather's fortress. "It was even more labyrinthine than our current palace. It has levels only reachable from certain other levels, and many secret passages. From what you say, I believe some of them haven't been found out by the Necromancer and his servants. If we can't escape before the orcs take us there, it might be our hope."

"So…" The dwarf was doubtful. "We should count on your memory of some drawings of a place you've never been before to escape an enemy even Gandalf the wizard had trouble with?"

"Exactly."

Legolas' matter-of-factly answer, without even the blink of an eye, would have Kíli throwing his hands up in the air, if by the chains connecting their shackles together. The rattle of chains is quite _not_ welcome when you're trying to hide your activities and talks from orcs, goblins, Necromancers or any kind of captor ever bred in Middle-earth. Given the circumstances, the archer settled for rolling his eyes in an ineffective attempt to unscrew them from their sockets.

"This is madness. We must escape before Dol Guldur."

"That's why I said we must escape soon, or not escape at all."

"The why are we discussing the fortress at all?"

Sensing the males were a hair string apart from strangling each other, Tilda intervened.

"Lads. Stop. This is taking us nowhere."

"_He_ started it!"

"What? It was _you_ gossiping about Gandalf's misadventures!"

"Me? And _who_ was rambling about secret passages in a palace he never visited?"

"Lads!" Tilda hushed down the whispered quarrel again, recalling with shame how unaware of the surroundings she and Kíli had been some days before because of such irrational bicker, resulting in their current imbroglio. "Let's play adults for a while and focus on a solution, shall we?

Ashamed for being called to reason by a human woman barely come to adulthood when the younger of them was more than four times her age, and the older one had already forgotten a dwarf's lifetime without damage to any substantial knowledge, both males obediently shut up.

"Thank you. Now… What is feasible? We have no hairpin anymore, they took everything from your hair and… from any other place too… so…what can be used to unlock our shackles? I can try any kind of wire, if we can find some, thanks master Nori, so, we keep our eyes open. Legolas, can you tell us how far are we from the fortress? I don't care about miles or kilometres, just how long we have, in days, at the rate we're been dragged around." Tilda turned to her beloved one, albeit her words showed nothing about her feelings. "Kíli, do you see any kind of weapon we can put our hands on, when we have them free? I doubt orc's bows are very balanced, but in your hands I'm sure something can be done. As well as in yours, Legolas, of course. Their scimitars look too heavy for me to make a good stand, but I can handle a dagger, or a short knife. What do you say?"

Dwarf and elf princes stared at each other, ashamed is was someone else – a human, and a _woman_, notwithstanding the high regard of females their races maintained – who called them to reason and to fight. Not to mention she wasn't even a warrior.

"I say… we fight." Legolas stated, proud as his father could ever hope. "By the stance of the trees, we may have a sennight yet. Time enough to…"

What it was _time enough for_ was lost to his companions in captivity, who stared in despair to yet another seizure. Worse than the first they witnessed in the forest, days before.

And now they had enemies to take advantage of the situation.

**=^.^= =^.^= =^.^=**

**More Notes**:

**Mizz Alec Volturi**, thank you so much, I hope this one is up to your expectations.

**Celebrisilweth****_, _**they'll do their best, but they don't know yet how bad things are.

**Jullina Baade**, **Salwin77**, they'll have to work together if they are to have a chance at all. Now, about living happily ever after… have faith!

**The Other Writer Girl**, Black Speech has a hard time or a disgusting disregard with nouns, as explained to Legolas. Now, about living happy endings… have faith!

**Mustard Lady**, Thranduil might be snobbish all he wants, as I believe (he must be very uncomfortable that none of the Three Rings is his when he is the only actual elven _king_ remaining in Middle-earth.), it won't keep him from being worried about his only son. I don't believe him to be actually _bad_, just simply biased. Now, about Tilda, Kíli and Legolas not being actually killed… just have faith!


	45. Comparisons

**A.N: **Hello, dearest readers, I finally finished a chapter in the deadline I set for myself, thanks the Maker!  
Welcome on board, **Jeanniphil**, and have a nice ride!  
More notes at the end of the chapter, especially for my dear reviewers!

* * *

**Comparisons**

"Why are we leaving the path? Isn't it dangerous?"

Bilbo questioned Thorin when he perceived the party steering out of the road.

"They're following the lead of a horse, if you believe it."

"And… Are we going too? I remember quite well what happened last time."

"Aye, so do I, my… friend." If Bilbo noticed the slight time lapse before the word used to address him, it was shown only by a quick glance in the direction of the dwarf king. "But last time it was a misguiding elven path, not a sure dwarf road, and the forest fairy wasn't very fond of us. Not that he got any fonder of us since then, but at least we have peace treaties. Also, back then there was a Necromancer at Dol Guldur, and if we can trust Gandalf, he was banished by the elven witch of the golden forest. I hope this will be enough for our safety."

"So do I."

The hobbit fidgeted with the reins of his pony, wondering. The combined searching party had gone back to the goal of finding Bard's daughter, now under the suspicion of being a runaway instead of a poor kidnapped child. Woman, Bilbo corrected himself in his mind, a grown up woman, not a child. The ten years between when he saw her last and now would leave the girl in her irresponsible tweens, were she a hobbit lass. But he knew, rationally, that she must be already a grown up and responsible woman, even if her grown up semblance was unimaginable to him.

And, if Bilbo thought just a little more rationally, a responsible grown up woman wouldn't run away from her home, would she?

What led him back to the question that made Bard shut his mouth and ignore him since a few days ago. Since he questioned what could possibly have terrified Tilda enough to make her want to run away.

Which made him to consider that maybe dwarves and humans were not _that_ different, taken everything in account.

The steady clip-clop of Dís' pony claimed his attention. He knew it as the sound that could only belong to the mount of his intended. Steady and impatient like its owner, Bilbo mused. And probably curious as what he was talking to her brother. He could not complain about the dwarrowdam's curiosity, as it kept leading them closer. The only problem was a certain king, their self-proclaimed chaperone. Who in his eventual absence trusted the charge upon Dwalin's shoulders, or even Fíli's. To be constantly watched by someone of her family was unsettling, to say the least, but he was willing to suffer all of it for his precious Dís and her precious raven black beard.

_Hair_, he meant _hair_!

Now, really, why, oh why did her beard resemble so much that of her brother? Or why did it bother him so much when they shared kisses and he couldn't help but wonder if Thorin's beard was as soft, or his lips as sweet?

"What troubles you so much, darling mine?"

So upset with his abstruse feelings he was that Bilbo didn't notice Dís right beside him, even though his thought wandered that far exactly because he noticed she was riding to be there.

"Dís." The hobbit smiled at the princess and lied. "I was just wondering… what could have made Brad's daughter decide to run away? It must have been something momentous."

"Or not." She shot back. "Sons and daughters of Men are not as unwavering as other races, if you take my meaning. Which makes me wonder if the match between her and my son was really a good idea. Of course it was a stupid idea to arrange it without consulting me, I wouldn't have allowed it. I married out of love and my sons deserve the same. But even if it were the case…"

"Then what?"

"You see, Bilbo, how can we trust a lass who simply runs away at Maker only knows what whim?"

"Well…"

He tried and failed in hiding the roll of his eyes. Dís saw it and didn't let it lie.

"Well what?"

"We don't know her reasons. Maybe, when we find her, it can be clarified and…"

"And it doesn't make her anything different from a runaway, does it?"

"Right!" Now the hobbit was put off by the double standards. "And it doesn't make her anything different from Kíli, does it?"

"_What_?"

"What makes him anything different from a runaway, Dís? His reason to flee? If so, how can we judge princess Tilda without knowing her own reasons?"

Dís glared daggers at her hobbit, unable to counter his logic.

"You may have a point, I concede. But, I warn you, conceal this roguish smile of yours until we know her reasons. And don't think I consider my son less reckless for having the reason he had, mind you!"

Said roguish smile was hard to conceal, as it always was when he won a point with Thorin. The siblings of Durin's line were not that different, after all. Which was almost making his mind wander again when they heard a shout in the van.

"Halt! We found a camp!"

=^.^=

_Tilda breathed. In and out. Smell the flower, blow out the candle. In and out. No panic. In and out. She could do it. In and out…_

_Hand steady, scalpel firm in her grip, patient under poppy milk… The leg was rotten by necrosis, the scent of decay invading her nostrils, but her hands kept steady. There would be pain, the ghost of the leg could come and haunt the patient with pain or more casual feelings, like cold or even itches. But there wouldn't be the death necrosis would grant if the leg wasn't taken away. And prosthetics could be made, Dain Ironfoot was the proof it could work. If only the patient lived._

_And for him to live it depended only on Tilda's skill as a healer._

_To cut and sew and burn and mend so he wouldn't lose too much blood, so he wouldn't go mad with pain when the poppy milk faded, so he wouldn't wish his whole body had gone to the grave with his leg…_

_Then there was light._

_Light shining on the main wound, from where the necrosis spread, light healing skin, tissue, blood vessels, light healing everything. _

_Tilda dropped the unused scalpel, astonished. She reached for the formerly wounded leg, touching the healed skin in wonder. A small scar was all that was left, the size a regular arrow point would leave if properly tended. The skin was warm, yet not feverish, the abundant leg hair feeling rough yet nice to her touch. The leg of a healthy male, and she didn't cut it off._

_The light faded, and Tilda was startled by the patient's voice as he reached out to touch her fingers._

_"You cannot be her… She is far away… She…she is far, far away from me."_

_The young woman stared, overtaken by the joy of seeing her patient so healthy, yet, what was he talking about?_

_"She walks in starlight… in another world. It was just a dream..."_

_If those words were some kind of explanation, they failed in the purpose of enlightening her. Tilda took the hand that just grazed her fingers and brought it up to her lips, whishing she had some kind of magic to heal her patient, not only from the bodily pain, but also from the sadness that lingered in his eyes._

_"Do you think she could have loved me?"_

_How could she answer to those pleading eyes but with the truth?_

_"I'm sure she did. This I promise you."_

_"You cannot be her."_

_It was a statement, yet the unbelieving statement of someone who faces a paradox. And this paradox Tilda felt in her bones, in her soul, and knew it was true._

_"And yet, I am."_

_His eyes almost watered, lips quivering with emotions too pure to be translated in words. Tilda bent down to fulfil her promise, even if it was about the love of someone else – and yet, herself._

_Their lips touched._

_There was light._

_Light, spreading from where their bodies made contact, engulfing them whole, sending shockwaves of the purest of feelings all around them, shaking leaves and rolling clouds, making even the very bones of Middle-earth to sigh._

_Until, of course, an elf had to bother them._

_"Don't kiss the patient, just throw a plate!"_

_"What?"_

_"We must fight the orcs. Wake up!"_

=^.^=

Tilda left her confused dream to stare to an overanxious elf hovering over her face. Exhaustion had overtaken her, but the call to fight won over.

"Where?" She whispered.

"Where what?"

"Where are the orcs?"

"Everywhere, last I checked." Legolas helped her to stand up, Kíli's shoulder a steady support. "We're moving again, you were too deeply asleep so we woke you up."

"Oh." Realization downed, depressing. "Of course. How're you feeling?"  
"Lots of cramps, but no seizure while you slept."

"He forgot to mention ice and fire battle his body decided to war against him."

"Thank you very much, Kíli, for spilling the beans."

"You thing our favourite healer wouldn't find it out soon enough?"

Soon they were steered through the forest, feet more or less able to comply to the fast rhythm their captors demanded. Their last attempt to flee had been rewarded with whips to their legs, and their clothes clung to their skin by the dried blood.

But they would try again. The moment wasn't preset, it could be anytime along the night, or during the short respite the orcs allowed themselves during the brighter hours of day; anytime, if they only perceived the minimal chance of success.

No matter how broken elf, human and dwarf were, one thing was certain: they would try to escape again.

**=^.^= =^.^= =^.^= =^.^=**

**More Notes**:

**Mizz Alec Volturi**, thank you so much, I hope you liked this one.  
**The Other Writer Girl**, Bard doesn't have a clue, as he didn't actually tell her about the marriage. And sorry (not sorry!), they won't have a break in the near future…  
**Celebrisilweth_, _Mustard Lady, **sometimes I think Tilda is the more mature in the trio, as because of her shorter lifespan she knows she must make things right at once.


	46. The Weight of a Feather

**A.N.: **Hello, dearest readers, thank you for your patience, I promise not to abuse it. This chapter is a bit short, but I hope it's up to your expectations.

For anyone of you who like "girls falls into Middle-earth" fics, I strongly recommend the fabulous work by Lady Dunla ( u/4051114/LadyDunla ), starting with The Written World I: Journal (The Hobbit, complete: s/8943459/1/The-Written-Word-I-The-Journal) and its sequel The Written World II: The Book (Lord of The Rings, work in progress, new chapters every Sunday: s/11082697/1/The-Written-Word-II-The-Book). I promise there is no Mary Sue, Tolkien/Peter Jackson's characters are never OOC, the plots are solid, the writing is top quality, and you'll have a lot of fun!

**Celebrisilweth**, Dís forgot that when she points one finger to someone, she's also pointing three fingers to herself…

**That Other Writer Girl**, the searching party is running to find them, and Thranduil is very, very angry. That will be enough to fix their situation in due time… probably.

* * *

The Weight of a Feather 735 + 534

This time the trio made it far enough to find a bee hive, diligently thrown against the orcs by Legolas' deft hands. What they didn't count upon was that orc stench was able to dispel the bee swarm, as not even the laborious insects could stand the offending smell.

"That was a good one!" Laughed the dwarf, stanching the blood from a cut in his forehead.

"Could be better if my hands weren't shackled." Considered the spanked elf. "Next time we must find something more efficient."

"Next time we must make it further." The woman groaned, taking care not to move too much her split lip. "I would love if we could find a streamlet or a brook, I need so badly a bath I smell almost more offending than the orcs."

"A wash? I could stay without a bath if I could at least drink a mouthful."

"Coming from an elf, I'm surprised. I deemed you would be glad to take a bath even with just a mouthful of water"

"Come on, Kíli, not even a dwarf is able to wash with a mouthful of water."

"We can always do with some fine sand to scrub the dirt off. The Maker provided us with this resource for the days Ulmo is unsympathetic to us and prevents us from finding water."

"Sand?"

Legolas' incredulity was shared by Tilda, who just widened her eyes so as to spare her lip.

"Aye, fine and clean sand. Legend says the Fathers of the dwarves learned this from creatures that dig their own caves, like hamsters and chinchillas."

"I can hardly compare a dwarf to a hamster, but if you say so…"

"Lads." Tilda muttered. "Please. We must focus on escaping."

She knew what the nonsensical talk was about. To dissociate from the current situation to keep sanity. Tilda saw it done more than once, by badly injured patients and by kinsfolk of deceased ones. By mothers who lost their children, born and unborn alike. By a father who lost his only son to a cave-in on the first day the lad was allowed to work in what he dreamed to do. By a blacksmith who lost his right arm in an accident. Sometimes, alienation is what is needed to make the person's mind to survive a challenge; but, right now, alienation would only keep them from their goal, and she could not allow this. She was a healer by trade, and the minds of her patients were matter of her work the same as their bodies. She would not let them down. Even if she herself digressed too, talking about a bath.

"We'll do it again tomorrow. Just allow our fresh cuts to stop bleeding." Kíli promised.

Legolas agreed, drawing what power he could from the tree they were bound to and feigning he wasn't shivering with cold once again.

"We'll do it again. And again. And again. Until we succeed. If they don't slaughter me first, I can fight to escape for thousands of years yet."

Kíli half smiled at the determination of his elven friend.  
"I swear it is not envy, but my ability to fight them may reach barely thrice my current age. But I expect us to escape long before I'm two-hundred-sixty-four, of course."

"Then let us fight together one more day tomorrow, as long as our strength allows."

"Aye. On you mark. If you don't have another seizure, of course."

"Nah, that was yesterday."

"And the day before."

"But not today."

"No, not today."

"Yet."

"Yet."

Tilda kept quiet. The lads were digressing again, which was bad, but with focus on their escape, which was good. Legolas' seizures, cramps, shivers from cold and sweat crisis were a disturbing mystery, as all knowledge about elves prayed they didn't get sick, but in between something could be done. Like running away like crazy only to be caught again. That was something she could do whilst looking for another means of escape.

But there was something in their talk that disquieted her.

Two-hundred-sixty-four.

Just an expectation, she knew. An optimistic one, but not by far. An average dwarf could live up to two-hundred-fifty, it was a fact. She knew it.

Kíli was not even one hundred yet.

He would outlive her by one hundred more, if she was lucky and healthy enough, which was warranted by nothing.

It was not fair.

She should have known better.

* * *

Bard was out of his mind, even more than when Dunwine explained what Broda, and Broda's saddlebags, were able to tell. Because now it was clear that she had been taken by someone, even if that's not what happened back in Dale.

And, by the state of the camp, it was not by someone overly sympathetic to his daughter.

"Tell me this is not her blood!"

The king of Dale pleaded to everyone and no one in particular, his hand smeared with a dark material, which could have been sticky once but now was dry. The members of the searching party were looking for imprints of feet, broken twigs (or branches, in the case of orcs; orcs wouldn't be so discreet as to just bend twigs; most probably would tear trees down just for fun), indications of from where the assailants came and where they headed to, how long ago did that happen…

"Oi! There's an orc trail we can follow, plain to see!"

One of the Dale scouts offered, but it wasn't enough to bring Bard up on his feet, mesmerized as he was with the markings on the ground.

"Orcs. Filthy orcs. I'll eviscerate them out, I'll…"

"And it will be me pleasure to help ya, of course." Was Dwalin's statement. "But this blood doesn't look like that of a lass. Black blood it is."

Bard hasted to wipe his fingers on some leaves to cleanse them, disgusted.

"I know you're a renowned warrior, master dwarf, and I rely on you. All I know is my little girl is missing, and I'm not reasoning anymore."

"Orc blood." Mumbled Fíli, analysing the pattern of the blood splashes. "Someone put up a fight here." He walked two steps closer to the remains of the campfire, eyes trained on the ground. "Someone booted and... Wait! Dwalin, look at this!"

"Aye, lad."

The warrior tiptoed closer to Fíli, which was quite an achievement if his heavy built is to be considered. Bard followed, curious about anything that could help find his daughter.

Fíli was crouched beside some firewood, lifting some furs to show what was beneath them.

"What do you make of this?"

Dwalin whistled.

"Durin's balls…"

"What is happening?" Asked Bard, too anguished to make something out for himself.

"This sleeping roll was thrown _over_ the logs. It has no blood stains, yet the wood shows lots of blood."

"Meaning?"

"Someone was here _after_ the orcs left. At least half an hour after, I'd say."

"But who?" Thorin approached to see Fíli's findings, anxious to solve the Tilda-orcs-Tilda-more-orcs issue so as to be free to hunt Kíli again. "Any clue?"

"The owner of this, I bet." Fíli lifted the back part of an arrow, broken just below the fletching. "And I bet more: the maker of this arrow."

Thorin grabbed the broken arrow as a lifeline, both happy for the finding and angry at its possible meanings.

"Dís!" He shouted to the other side of the overturned camp. "You were right all those years ago."

"'Bout what?" She shouted back, surprised that her brother acknowledged her for being right at all.

"Kíli's insistence in learning to fletch his own arrows was useful, after all!"


	47. Getting Closer

**A.N.:** Hello, dearest readers, once again I must apologise for the delay, but I have reasons. This second graduation is taking its toll; data science is, as Mr. Spock would say, _fascinating,_ but demands dedication and a lot of time. Also, we're moving, both home and office, we're still boxing everything while fixing some issues in the new house, and Erú knows how much time it demands and how tiring it is! But I count my blessings, and still being able to write in between is a very meaningful one. Thank you for your patience!

**Salwyn77**, they're trying really hard, and facing its results, unfortunately; Thorin and Dís still have issues to fix, as siblings use to, and Bilbo is squeezed between them.  
**Celebrisilweth**, they're almost there, keep the faith!  
**Mustard Lady**, I love Jumanji! Their help is on the way, both from dwarf and elf and man. But I'd run faster if I were them…  
**Mizz Alec Volturi**, thank you so much, I hope you'll like this one.  
**That Other Writer Girl**, the rescuers don't know Kíli's been captured too, I hope it doesn't make them too optimistic; our intrepid heroes are more like desperate heroes, but they too keep the faith!

* * *

**Getting Closer**

This time it was the spiders that cut short their escapade, and Legolas was stoned for half a day longer than the last time the eight-legged pests got them, after their escape from Burzurg and his pack. It would be funny if they were not in such a dire situation, but right now having his friend singing dirty tavern songs only made Kíli cringe.

"At least he's not in pain…" The dwarf tried to look over his friend's foolishness while wishing he could close Tilda's ears. Even the loud thud of orcs running beside them could not muffle Legolas' loud show. "But if I ever know he _is_ conscious of what he's singing, I'll _make_ him feel pain!"

"Forgive him, Kíli. He's as daft as a poppy-milker."

"As a _what_?"

"As an addict to poppy-milk. It happens sometimes, when a patient goes through too much pain, and we have to give poppy-milk to numb it for a long time." She gasped for air, running and talking was not easy with her small frame and undernourishment. "If it is taken for too long a time, when the cause of the pain is over, the body is so used to it that it feels pain just for not having poppy-milk."

"But he had no poppy-milk, just spider venom."

"I was wondering about it. Maybe they're alike."

"Alike? How?"

The dwarf tried to connect the image of a field of poppies with overzealous spiders tending the flowers, but it just made him shudder at the absurdity of it.

"It makes one to pass out instantly, and to remain so, longer each time it's used, if not spaced by several days or even weeks; while under its hold, you feel no pain nor wish to confront anything at all. Does it remind you of how we felt when the spiders stung us?"

Kíli lowered his head, focusing on his feet while running at the orcs' speed. He hid his feelings under a ton of shame, because how could an honourable dwarf assume he had no wish to fight after being stabbed by a spawn of Ungoliant? Yet, that was what he had to acknowledge after his few encounters with Mirkwood spiders (even if those few were more than the wished for, in other words, none at all). Talking with his brother and other members of the Company he was able to state that inability to resist sleepiness and lethargy was completely normal when you had one of that basted spiders' poison in your body.

"Perfectly, unfortunately."

Fortunately, although, the orcs decided that was the best moment, or place, whatever, to make camp and spend the brighter hours of the day. The trees were more sparse in the south part of the forest, and the creatures of Morgoth avoided sunlight like Ori avoided green food.

The chains that linked their shackles were locked around a tree, as usual since their first attempt to escape. At least it granted them somewhere to lean their backs against, which was not the best position to sleep, but was better than the time they were tied to boulders of sharp rock. Even the dwarf felt uncomfortable, and that is saying a lot for a being whose Maker was Lord over Stone.

Some hard bread was thrown their way, which was good, but Legolas insisted that the bread had tiny fairies inside it and that they would devour him from inside out if he ate the bread, which was bad. Both fairies devouring him from inside out and Legolas imagining it was a real possibility.

Tilda munched her bread slowly, no saliva in her mouth to help process the hard food. She knew it was the only food they'd be allowed to, and didn't wish to know the other choices the orcs held for themselves. When the trembling of hunger subsided some, she resumed her explanation to Kíli. Legolas juggled with some bread pieces, fast enough that no orc witnessed it.

"You see, now he's even more able than the usual. Faster, as we can see; and stronger, from what we witnessed last time."

Kíli nodded slowly, recalling how Legolas had been keen to pull them up the trees. An energy sprout, and soon it was over and the elf was wobbling like a drunken possum.

"Poppy milk does that?" He asked, astonished. He never heard anything of the like, even being friends with Nori, who knew everything about any unusual and/or non-allowed substance from Erebor to the Blue Mountains. If it could be used to their advantage…

"Aye, but along misconceptions about the world around, not to say simple delirium."

"But, we could use Legolas'… spider-venom strength to get away from here? You mentioned he's faster, and stronger… Kind of a spiderelf?"

The woman looked down at her shackled wrists.

"But utterly _useless_!"

That made the elf look up from the bread pieces he was juggling, causing them to fall all over his lap.

"I'm not utterly _useless_. I can still be used as a _bad example_!"

Tilda would facepalm if her hands were not so filthy. The elf, right now, was beyond help. Kíli turned to her, more whispering in her ear than speaking, sending shivers down her spine despite the embroilment of the moment.

"Is it always so with _poppy-milkers_?"

The woman swallowed the last of the dry bread they were allowed to and focused on answering her dwarf's question.

"Not always. Sometimes people think they are able to fly and try to do it, throwing themselves out of a window. Sometimes they are sure they're invisible and this leads to the most embarrassing scenes. Don't ask me to retell you any, right?"

Now Kíli understood, or guesses he understood, why Nori never told him anything about poppy-milk. It would both explain a lot about Nori's erratic behaviour sometimes and why he never mentioned it to him or to Fíli. They both were too much irresponsible to deal with such and information. Longbottom pipeweed was enough, and it was enough.

"Poppy-milk withdrawal is alike to what Legolas has been through, with cramps, pain, feeling too cold and too hot… and convulsions too. It's a sorry sight to witness."

"And what do you do to heal it?" Kíli asked, noticing her sad face. Talking about her healing arts always made her energetic, and he used it to distract Tilda from their current predicament. Only, it didn't work this time.

"There's nothing that helps, in what we know so far. Sometimes we must put the poppy-milker in a cell until the withdrawal is over, else the person can hurt themselves."

"Right. What cannot be cured must be endured." He fidgeted with his shackles, trying another topic to pull her away from her sadness. "When do you think we'll try another escapade, Tilda?"

Her eyes were set with a determined look Kíli only ever saw on his mother, which was scaring.

"As we always do it, Kíli. At the first sight of a chance."

* * *

The orc trail was plain to see, as the scout informed. Not hard to follow at all, the track of broken branches, revolved earth and assorted trash, as if the orcs rejoiced in defiling and polluting the very earth they stood upon. Well, maybe, that was the whole point of those spawns of Morgoth, as they themselves were the result of the Enemy's torture and cankering of elves of the First Age, if any Age was already counted by then. Elves that were born before Sun or Moon sailed the skies, now lost forever.

Well, if Tilda wasn't to be lost forever, they'd better run, Thorin thought to himself. Even if Kíli was after her, as evidences suggested. What was Kíli doing in that stretch of forest he couldn't fathom, but if he was running away from his duty as heir of Durin's line (as the dwarven king firmly believed was the case) he could well be tracking his way back from whence he came. Yet, only a complete stupid would believe he could lead on the life he had at the Blue Mountains without Thorin's approval, and a complete stupid Kíli wasn't, despite his notorious recklessness.

But then, was he really as reckless as people used to believe? Sometimes Thorin pondered that maybe what started as a truth became a smokescreen to conceal the statesdwarf he was, to his advantage. Frivolous signs of recklessness in matters where it didn't have any substantial effect, but that helped him to achieve victories in things that mattered in the dealing of the settlement. A veritable pupil of Balin, his nephew was.

"How can I wipe it away?"

The voice of his official burglar startled him. The path was easy to follow and they advanced well, yet it was bumpy enough to prevent the horses to gain full speed, and so, allowing a bit of conversation when the trail was wide enough.

"Wipe what away, pray?"

"That frown of yours. If looks could burn, Shamrock's mane would be ashes by now. What did the poor pony do to you?"

Thorin dignified to uplift a half smile. That hobbit really had the gift to make him smile in the direst situations. Like when he was bleeding to death on the frozen waters of the River Running after dispatching Azog.

"You already did."

"I did what the pony did to you?"

Bilbo's frown was genuine, and Thorin's reasoning too fast for his taste.

"I shouldn't have to explain such thing to an expert burglar, should I?"

"Right." The hobbit rearranged his shoulders in the most dignified way he could while riding a pony and playing words with Thorin instead of swordplaying. "What bothers you? Besides this orc hunt, I mean. And besides Kìli having…"

"Shut!"

The hobbit knew when to clip his lips when necessary, and Thorin's interjection was more than enough for him to remember the men of Dale and Rohan didn't know about Kíli's… unexpected adventure.

After some moments of focus on the irregular ground, the dwarf spoke at last, loud enough for his hobbit to hear, nothing more.

"Kíli is not a fool, even if he tries to sell himself as such when it suits him. Since I bestowed him authority on the Blue Mountains' settlement, he handled councillors thrice his age to his will, called to reason citizens who sought royal justice for petty issues, dismissed merchants who thought a young ruler was a foolish ruler, and dealt with manish neighbours desperate for protection while attempting to manipulate _that brat of a dwarf_."

Bilbo frowned, trying to digest what he just heard. It was obvious to him that manish neighbours and dwarrow councillors were more fools than Kíli had ever been, in the hobbit's account, anyway. He told Thorin that much.

"I knew you held Kíli in high esteem. I should have paid more attention to your regard for him."

"Why?" The question was genuine.

"You knew him well enough to know the manoeuvre to marry him wouldn't work. Also, to know he wasn't in his bedroom when we were looking for him. I should have conferred with you prior to take my decision. I was a fool."

Embarrassed, Bilbo focused on the reins of his pony, which was better than to look at the ground to keep him stable.

"Thorin, it's not that you are…"

"Humpf! Of course it is. But if he deigned he should have conferred with you, what would justify him _not_ conferring with me?"

"Dís." Thorin acknowledged the presence of his sister riding beside them, with a frown.

"Dís, I wasn't…" Bilbo tried to apologise.

"But you should."

"Dís!"

"Enough." It was a command, if someone ever heard one. Her voice was dangerous, and Bilbo wished he could melt into the background and let the sibling bearded Powers war. "Bilbo was _not_ at Erebor for the last six seasons. _I _was."

"I don't have to have this conversation. You _always_ dispute whatever the Council decides."

"_Only_ when your precious Council is stupid."

"As I said, you _always _dispute."

"I wouldn't, if they weren't _always_ stupid."

"Dís, Thorin…" The hobbit's pony was on the path to being squeezed between Shamrock and Thunder, but focused only on the orc ravaged path before it. Bilbo felt as squeezed as his mount, only worse. "I thought this was already settled. It was wrong to arrange a political marriage for Kíli, and we're facing the outcome of such a.. such a…"

"Stupid decision?" Offered Dís.

"Dire political need?" Thorin stressed.

"Both!" Clarified Bilbo. "Now, can we all act as adults and focus on… on the matter at hand?"

There wasn't really any matter at hand, but Bilbo _had to _make them drop the fight, for his own sanity's sake.

"And what is the matter at hand that we're not focusing on?"

The phrase was too long to have being uttered both by a seething Thorin or a fuming Dís, but could make sense coming from either lips. The only problem was that Bilbo didn't plan on having to explain what, in goodness, was the matter at hand, because it was obvious to him.

"Ahn, well… We have an orc trail, a kidnapped lass, an heroic dwarf trekking both, and…"

The hobbit interrupted his babbling to follow a train of thought that hit him like a, well, like a train.

"And what?

Bilbo looked at both as he answered, a bewildered countenance on his face.

"Would there be fragments of Kíli's arrows at Tilda's camp if his arrows weren't there before the attack?"

The children of Thráin had no time to consider an answer, being interrupted by a shout from a returning scout.

"A burned camp! And there are orc carcasses!"


End file.
